Hidden in Plain View
by winter's-lion
Summary: The Leafmen are tired of the Stompers who invade the forest and lay waste to the trees. Deciding to retaliate, they could cause the end of the very forest they are trying to protect. In the middle of this, a former-Leafman might discover someone special - if only she weren't the Stomper the others were trying to destroy.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter I

When all else fails, MK hides from her circumstance. She has been trying to talk to her father for the past half hour, but eventually she is forced to admit defeat. He is lost in his own world, talking to himself and wandering the house with a vacant expression that belays the fact that every word she has uttered has passed through the empty space between his ears without registering.

Ozzie chases after her when she gives up and heads for the door. He snorts and salivates with excitement, mouth hanging open with a toothless smile. MK chuckles at him and nudges one of the many cardboard boxes of miscellaneous science crap on the floor. Something inside of it clinks enticingly, and Ozzie is instantly distracted, starting to run circles to investigate. While he rotates, MK makes her escape, quickly shutting the door behind her so that the three-legged dog doesn't accidentally find himself running circles into the woods.

The sky is heavy with rainclouds over the tops of the deciduous trees of the forest. MK glances briefly upwards, but decides to continue. She can't listen to her father mutter anymore, or she might actually break down. She can feel a shivering somewhere deep under her calm exterior that threatens to make her quake and tremble all over. She knows that if she lets it come over her, she won't be able to function anymore, and that fact more than anything else terrifies her.

She lets out a small huff of air, tucks back a stray piece of hair and steps through the green foliage of the forest. The air smells warm and wet, announcing oncoming precipitation, making the colours around her seem much sharper than they are in actuality. A hummingbird flits past her and vanishes, hiding itself away in preparation for the rain. After its thrumming rhythm fades away, MK finds herself surrounded by suffocating silence. Sound around her has become muted by the thick atmosphere. She freezes mid-step, her thick soled combat boot hanging over a fragile fern. Between the trees comes a faint smacking sound, repeating and growing faster.

The rain is coming.

MK's face breaks a smile and she darts forward, intent on a nearby tree that has limbs low enough for her to quickly scramble up. She finds a sheltered crook and squeezes herself into it, listening to the raindrops patter down around her.

The fern is crushed in her haste.

-:-

In a flurry of feathers, the dilapidated little sparrow shoots into the sky. It ducks and weaves, spinning between the drops of water spilling from the dark hang of clouds overhead. On its back, its rider crouches close to the bird's back, holding tightly to the reins as the bird takes several rocky manoeuvres that nearly unseats its rider. Nod laughs, leaning closer to the sparrow's feathers as raindrops shoot past them, threatening to knock them out of the sky. The challenge is a welcome distraction for Nod, and he mocks the sky, daring it to take him down.

Lightning splits the sky, and two seconds later, a roll of thunder physically rattles through Nod's frame. He shudders, and in his distraction, a raindrop hits his back. Instantly, his shirt is soaked through and turns frigid from the atmospheric temperature. The tips of his longish hair grow damp from the moisture in his shirt and start to freeze, sticking to his neck. When another repercussion of thunder rumbles through him, he decides that his sparrow can't handle the increasing difficulty the wind is rousing. He conveniently doesn't admit that his teeth are starting to chatter and that when he peels a piece of hair off of his cheek, it crackles with frost and ice crystals.

He urges the sparrow on, flattening himself to its back so that they create an aerodynamic shape that pierces forwards like an arrow. The sparrow's short beak nips through the air, shooting ahead of the sheets of rain until they are outrunning the storm. Glancing over his shoulder, Nod knows that it will outrun them in the end, but if they can find some shelter before then, they will be golden.

The sparrow dips closer to the ground, flitting between leaves as Nod scans for a shelter big enough for the both of them. He is so distracted that he doesn't notice the Stomper until it is almost on top of them. A boot twice the length of the sparrow's wing span slams painfully slowly down directly in front of them, making the sparrow's wings stutter in panic.

"Whoa!" Nod yelps, hauling back on the reins and sending the sparrow skittering to the side. The Stomper runs past them in slow motion, leaving a trail of broken foliage behind it. Nod's eyes lock onto a flattened fern that seconds before was a small plant uncurling with life in front of him. He stares after the retreating Stomper's figure, amazed that it can continue on its merry way without recognizing the destruction it leaves behind it. If he had been slower, he might have gotten caught underneath the giant's foot and would be as squashed-looking as the fern in front of him is now.

Somehow, he finds this highly amusing. He bursts into laughter, startling his sparrow. "You can't kill us off that easily!" Nod hollers after the Stomper, still grinning stupidly.

"Hey!"

Nod startles, and his sparrow jerks around to find the new source of sound. Ronin swoops down next to him on a fully armoured hummingbird, looking as thunderous as the sky behind them. "Queen Tara has called all Leafmen back to Moonhaven. No one is to be out in the rain. Why don't you know this yet?"

Nod bridles at his mentor's derogative tone. "I thought I told you; I'm not a Leafman anymore."

Ronin doesn't even blink. "You are still under the queen. I recommend you come back before your mount suffers heart failure."

Nod glances down at his sparrow. The creature is getting frantic, having raced too hard from the oncoming rain and been frightened by the near encounter with a Stomper. Its narrow chest heaves as its heart beats a panicky tattoo underneath Nod. "Oops," Nod murmurs guiltily, suddenly worried for his companion. "Fine," he relents to Ronin, just as the raindrops catch and start to fall around them. "Lead the way."

* * *

_A/N: I haven't written anything in sooooo long. And to be honest, I don't know if I will continue this or not. I want to, and I have a basic storyline in mind, but I just hammered out this cruddy chapter and decided to post it for sh*ts and giggles. So be a dear and let me know if it's worth continuing...?_

_...I couldn't find a name for Nod's sparrow, so if this goes anywhere, I'll probably give it a name. I'm thinking 'Dippy' because it's goofy and amuses me. _


	2. Chapter 2

II

MK almost falls asleep in her perch up the tree. She doesn't want to get soaked, but she knows that if she does doze off, she will fall out of the tree. When she peers up through the foliage, she can see the cloud cover lightening slightly in the west. If she waits a few more minutes, she reasons, maybe the rain will stop long enough for her to run back the house. Looking the opposite direction, she can see the peak of her father's eclectic house rising like a tower over the treetops. Has he even noticed that she's been gone? Her mouth twists into a cynical grimace. Probably not. He's probably still talking to himself, holding a conversation for one.

The sheets of rain slow to rhythmic droplets, hitting uneven tempos around her. Deciding that now is her best chance before it picks up again, MK gingerly inches her way back to the loamy forest floor and wanders back in the direction of the house. She shoves her hands into her pockets and kicks at the leaf litter under her boots.

Emerging from the forest and shaking water from her red hair, MK blinks in surprise. There is a convoy of vehicles parked on the little round-about in front of the house. Three dull coloured cars and a van are crammed nose to bumper, blocking the driveway completely. MK wanders closer, frowning, and notices that every one of the vehicles has a sticker in the lower left-hand corner of the rear window. The stickers show the symbol of a local animal rights activist group. One of the cars has a peace sign painted on the roof. _Great_, MK thinks grimly. _Tree huggers_.

The screen door on the house bangs open and Ozzie bounds down the stairs in his funny, stilted gait, barking and whining. MK jumps away from the cars, feeling as though she has been caught in a wrong-doing. A group of men march down the stairs after Ozzie, each laden with an armload of her father's equipment. "What're you-?" MK starts, but she is interrupted.

"Wait, wait!" her father whimpers, slamming through the door after the intruders. "You can't take that!"

"There has been a formal complaint put in to the office," one of the men replies calmly, opening the trunk of the van and starting to pack the boxes containing tiny pieces of armour, security cameras that still have wires hanging from them, and boxes upon boxes of taped footage. MK knows that years of her father's lonely existence were poured into that footage, waiting for his 'big breakthrough'.

"F-formal complaint?" Bomba stutters out. "A complaint about _what_?"

"This forest is protected by the government," another activist says, indicating to the tall trees surrounding them. He looks lovingly at the wood. Then he sends a flatly infuriated look back at the flustered scientist. "And now half of it is dead."

"You're kidding," Bomba states. "You think that I'm killing the trees?"

"Until we can prove otherwise, you are under suspicion." The first activist slams the trunk closed, shutting away Bomba's work.

MK stares at the goings on. Are they serious? "Hold on," she yells, stepping in front of the van and raising her hands to get their attention. The activists look as though they would like nothing better than to ignore her, but she is barring the driver's side door. Suddenly aware of all the eyes on her, she quails under the attention. "Don't you need a permit or something to take things from a residence?" she whispers miserably. She's heard that line hundreds of times on the TV's police show reruns, and she doesn't know if it will work or not.

Bomba gives MK a wide-eyed look. "Mary Katherine, when did you get out here?"

That sets her blood boiling. She must've left the house at least an hour ago. Why is he so clueless?!

The man standing in front of MK is very tall. When he looks down his nose at her, she still blocking the van door, she feels like a foolish child all over again. It takes all her nerve to wait for his response without fading under his dark eyed stare. "A warrant?" he rumbles in his barrel-chested voice. "You want a search warrant?"

"Otherwise, what you are doing is illegal," she replies, but it feels more like a question when it comes out of her mouth.

A wolf-stare contest follows. He waits for her to collapse under the force of his wild expression, and she waits for him to admit that it is actually _he_ in the wrong. Or, at least, she hopes that he is.

Bomba's eyes flick nervously from the activist to his daughter, worrying the hem of his ragged shirt. The fate of his work depends on who blinks first.

A twiggy man standing next to the peace-sign car fiddles anxiously with the wire hoop in his earlobe. "Malcolm, we don't got a warrant," he murmurs, tensing for the retribution sure to follow.

The barrel-chested activist, Malcolm, finally breaks the stare he has on MK and turns his black expression on the hippie car. "Fine," he says after several tense seconds. "Fine. Unload the trunk. We'll come back later with someone who actually has a warrant."

The trunk is opened and Bomba darts forward to grab as much of his stuff as he can carry before bolting back inside. MK follows at a slower pace, feeling a little weak after playing a game of wills with the scary activist. Malcolm reluctantly helps her, and she can't help thinking that he looks deflated.

"You're really worried, huh?" she asks gently, propping the screen door open with her foot for him to go inside first.

He glares at her and she regrets ever opening her mouth. Then he drops his gaze. "We'll find out what's killing the trees. And hopefully before everything dies."

MK is quiet for a minute, following Malcolm back into the hallway of her father's ridiculous house. They set their boxes and other pieces of random equipment on the floor. When he turns back to head out, she clears her throat and says, "I'm sorry that the trees are in danger. I can't imagine it's Dad's fault, he's pretty harmless. But if there's anything I can do to help, will you let me know?"

He gives her a narrow look, as if assessing her. She's seventeen, sort of tall, skinny and wearing a skirt. He dismisses the idea. "Sure," he agrees in a tone that says he doesn't agree at all.

The activists leave in the convoy, each car pressed tightly between its preceding leader and the following car, like an army heading out into enemy territory. MK stands in the doorway and watches them go, arms crossed and eyes half closed. When the last car disappears between the trees that surround the house, she shuts the door and moodily goes to find her father.

Ozzie is dancing elated circles around Bomba's feet as the scientist inspects his disturbed shrines. The boxes with the displays of supposed armour are carefully laid out on his table and he is carefully rummaging through them to be certain nothing has been damaged.

"Dad?" MK asks, watching his fingers rove over the delicate armour pieces with surprising gentility. When Bomba doesn't respond, she repeats it again, her voice growing sharper.

He jumps, almost dropping what looks like a breastplate made from leaf. "Mary Katherine?"

"Those men," she says, indicating vaguely to the door, "they said that the forest is dying…"

"Yes," he agrees, leaving the end unfinished, urging her to continue.

"Well," MK scratches the back of her neck awkwardly. "You _aren't_ killing the trees, are you?"

He blinks his owl-like eyes at her, completely astonished. "No! _No,_ of course not! Why would you think that?"

MK gapes at him. "I…" But he's already enraptured by his work again.

"Look at this," he says, holding out something-or-other for her to see. "Have I shown this to you yet? Isn't it incredible? I think it's-"

"You know what? Never mind," MK mutters, turning around and walking back out the door. She's had enough of him for the day. She figures she has earned a night away from him after this new complication connected to her father's work. She can hear him still chattering away, content as ever, until she shuts her bedroom door.

-:-

Nod nearly kills himself with laughter. Ronin, on the other hand, is not amused. "No, no, wait," Nod gasps, clutching his stomach with one hand and bracing himself against his knee with the other. "Don't you get it? It-"

"I get it," Ronin replies flatly. "It's not funny."

Nod howls, his eyes bugging out. Beside him, his sparrow shifts nervously, unsure that its rider isn't having a seizure.

"Now, really," Ronin says loudly, clearly growing exasperated. "Listen to me. It. Is. Not. Funny. Not in the least. Stop it."

Nod gasps a few hysterical breaths before blowing out a long sigh and straightening, pushing his hair back. "You had to be there," he explains stoically to Ronin.

His mentor gives him a trademark bland look. "I honestly don't understand what you think is so humorous about Stompers, but I don't think the pointless wreckage of little plants is to be laughed at."

Nod groans, rolling his eyes skywards. "They're just little plants, Ronin. It's funny because of how incredibly clueless Stompers are." He widens his eyes comically, throws his arms in the air and starts making slow, ridiculously high running motions. Dropping his voice deep into his chest, he roars like a Stomper, but he can't do it for long before he collapses into giggles again.

"Many leaves," Ronin starts, his voice stern.

Nod is immediately sombre again. "One tree. You have told me that _thousands_ of times." He snatches up the reins of his sparrow and starts to walk away from Ronin.

Ronin chases after him. "And I will continue to tell it to you until you _understand what I'm trying to say_. Nod, it's the little plants that make up the forest. Stompers may be stupid and ludicrous in our opinion, but they are destructive, and it is not something to laugh about." His permanent frown deepens suddenly, and he throws a hand out, grabbing Nod's shoulder. "Where do you think you're going?"

"No clue," Nod replies, leading the sparrow to the edge of Moonhaven.

"It hasn't stopped raining yet." Ronin's voice darkens with frustration, his accent become sharper with his abruptness.

"I'll try and forgive that fact." Before Ronin can move to stop him, Nod leaps onto the sparrow's back, crowing, "_Go, Dippy!_"

The sparrow rears back and flares its straggly wings, quickly shooting off into the grey sky with Nod grinning manically from its back. He disappears in an instant, leaving his mentor seething behind him.

Ronin bares his teeth, grinding his jaw. How is he supposed to show the kid the importance of teamwork if the kid won't join the team and finds morbid amusement in the abolition of the very thing they are meant to protect? "And what kind of name is _Dippy_?" he yells after the long-gone duo.

"I think that it is an excellent name," Tara says sweetly, seeming to suddenly appear behind Ronin, making him jump and face her as sheepishly as his emotionless façade is capable of expressing.

He quickly offers her a stiff bow. "I'll go fetch him back," he mutters angrily, already striding past the elegant woman.

She gives him an appraising look, a small smile gracing her soft mouth. She stops him with a hand on his broad shoulder. "No, I'd rather you stayed here." It is not a request.

Ronin obliges, but he still radiates murderous impatience.

Tara's calm smile falls away to a morose reality. She studies his face more thoroughly, but he is focused elsewhere. "You should give him some time," she suggests, sorry to see her friend so lost. "He's young still, impulsive and all the rest." She bites her lip lightly and pulls her hand back. "And he needs to deal with his new circumstances at his own speed."

Ronin lifts his greyish eyes to meet her warm black ones. She offers him another smile, expecting to see understanding and accommodation in his gaze; instead she is met with a wall. "I am doing my best by him," he states rigidly. "I wish he would return me the favour." He inclines his head again in an abbreviated version of a bow. "Tara." Then he leaves.

* * *

_A/N: Thanks for the feedback; here goes nothing! :P Special thanks to Maggie269, Guest, Rachel and hpswst101. I appreciate the encouragement and constructive criticism. If anyone spots errors of any kind, please let me know so that I can save myself future embarrassment :s_

_Since I want to stay ahead of the game, if at all possible, I'm going to aim for weekly updates. I make no guarantees, but that will be my goal. _

_And in case you haven't noticed, I decided Dippy was pretty hilarious. Small things amuse small minds, friends._


	3. Chapter 3

III

To Nod's chagrin, the rain eases and begins to stop when he and Dippy the dilapidated sparrow leave Moonhaven. They weave between stray raindrops, aiming for the brightening sky in the west. Water drips from foliage, leaving behind the smell of growing things in their wake. Nod relaxes against Dippy's back, closing his eyes and letting the air move around him. He loves flying; he would be lying if he said he didn't miss being a Leafman for this reason. Hummingbirds are the elite of flying mounts, small and sleek, capable of flying in absolutely any direction. Dippy is an excellent replacement, smooth moving despite the straggly feathers on his wings. Nod could almost forget that he was on a sparrow instead of a hummingbird, unless he tries to make Dippy fly backwards. _That_ just doesn't work.

A patrol of Leafmen flits past Dippy and Nod. The black-haired leader lifts his hand in greeting, and Nod returns the gesture, subtly pulling Dippy's reins sideways so that the distance between he and the patrol widens. The patrol moves into formation, picking up speed and flashing away with a rainbow of shiny hummingbird feathers. Nod watches them go, nibbling his lip thoughtfully. Dippy flicks his head, and Nod looks down at the dusty brown feathers underneath him. Maybe the sparrow is grubby looking and lesser than the hummingbirds, but he and this bird, they are a pretty good pair. Nod doesn't wear the bright armour of the Leafmen anymore, and he never was talented enough for Ronin's approval. He tugs on his dull-coloured shirt, smiling wryly. "Dippy, I think that we were meant for each other," he coos, rubbing his hand over the bird's silky head. "This may be true love."

Dippy takes a breeze under his wings and they rise through the tree limbs, climbing up towards the sky. They burst through the leaf cover into a colourless sky, surrounded by wisps of the pale clouds that trail after the dark rain clouds. Nod's face breaks into a wide grin and he lets out a whoop.

They haven't gone far before Nod hears something. He peers over his shoulder to check that he isn't being followed. His hair flies around his face as he turns away from the wind, but between the brown strands he can see the silvery green of more fast approaching hummingbirds. "Seriously?" he groans. He stands up in the stirrups, preparing to urge Dippy into a straight ascension to escape the oncoming patrol.

"Nod?" someone yells from far behind. Nod erroneously pauses, confused, and when he looks behind again, he can see the same someone is now waving at him. He's been spotted, which of course means that he can't run away now.

"We've been caught," he gripes, directing Dippy to a nearby branch where they land and wait for the patrol to catch up. He slips off of Dippy's back and stands next to the bird as he watches the speedy little streaks nearing.

"Nod," Ronin says a bit breathlessly, hovering his mount in front of Nod's branch.

"Yesss?" Nod prompts, raising his eyebrows and drawing the word out in the agonizing manner he knows irritates Ronin.

Just as he hopes, Ronin takes the bait. His face hardens, and any traces of concern that may have been hidden in the line's of the Leafman's face are obliterated in an instant. "I shouldn't have worried," he mutters, glaring at the smug Nod. "You're far too difficult to get rid of."

"Aw," Nod simpers, "you were worried about me?"

Ronin sets his jaw stubbornly and turns back to the rest of the patrol he's leading. "Keep going," he orders, and the Leafmen dart away. Ronin gives Nod one more steely look before leaving.

Nod snaps out of his teasing to lean out from his perch and watch their departure. "Hey, Ronin! A different patrol was through here less than an hour ago."

"We know," Ronin calls back grimly.

Something about the tone Ronin uses strikes Nod, and he knows that the natural order has been knocked askew. He snags Dippy's reins and throws himself on. The bird barely waits for him to find his seat before they are streaking after the hummingbird patrol. Dippy is a racing bird, but even he is no match for the Leafmens' hummingbirds. He tails them, dodging clumsily between leaves. Dippy's bulkier build slows him even more, and soon Nod is directing the bird by squinting at the metallic flashes of the Leafmen armour pieces. He sees them drop from the sky, shooting towards the ground far below. Dippy follows suit and Nod sees Ronin landing next to a group of Jinn, all of whom are in a panic. A thistle grabs Ronin's arm, wailing at him and pulling him along.

Dippy lands and Nod tumbles gracelessly off, running after Ronin. Everything around him is moving, and Nod turns a full circle, still trailing after Ronin. There are Jinn everywhere, huddled close in tight-knit groups, or wandering the dusty earth, bending over once in a while. Frowning, Nod hurries after Ronin. He lowers his voice and murmurs over the taller Leafman's shoulder, "What's going on here?"

Ronin stops, his head bent to look down at his feet. Nod follows his line of sight and flinches back.

A Leafman lies broken and torn in the dirt at Ronin's feet. He's on his stomach, and there's a long, narrow thorn arrow thrust through the Leafman's neck, its point protruding out the other side. One of his elbows has been crushed, the bone and cartilage pointing every wrong direction. Nod narrows his eyes, hardly able to keep looking. He recognizes the black hair under the flattened helmet, and knows that this was the leader of the patrol who had acknowledged him before.

"Boggans," Ronin says simply, answering Nod's question. "Seems that they're widening their territory."

Nod pulls his stare away and sweeps the rest of the area quickly. Half a dozen more Leafmen lay in similar situations to the poor soul at Ronin's feet. Every one of them is stone dead, their armour pulled wrong from a harsh battle or fatal fall. Several hummingbirds lie motionless next to their partners, but a few still flutter their narrow wings frantically. Nod doesn't know if they are dying or simply mourning, but he doesn't want to know if it's the former.

"How did you know that they were here?" Nod asks quietly. The air around them is too still, like someone is holding their breath for the next strike.

"The Jinn contacted Tara." Ronin kneels in front of the patrol leader and gently rolls the body over. He peels the pulverized helmet from the Leafman's face and reveals the horrified expression the man died with. Nod grimaces. Death is not very becoming.

Ronin pulls the arrow free and throws it away in disgust. He looks back at Nod. "Since you're here now, you may as well help." Nod reluctantly agrees, and helps Ronin lift the body up onto Dippy's back so that it lays across the front of the saddle. They quickly form a stretcher by lashing a row of twigs together and, with the aid of the rest of Ronin's patrol, lay one of the wounded hummingbirds on it. Dippy's little talons grip one side of the stretcher, and Ronin's mount carries the other. Once all the other bodies and birds have been looked after in a similar fashion, the patrol lifts off the ground, bearing their extra burdens awkwardly back to Moonhaven.

-:-

Tara seems made of marble. Her face is impenetrable, and her solid stance makes her seem unmoveable. Even Ronin looks a little intimidated, waiting for her to respond to the forest's latest developments. She stands with her back to the gathering of Leafmen, their ranks filling the hall of Moonhaven. In front of Tara, the bodies of the fallen warriors are shrouded in lichen and ivy, ready to return them to the forest they came from. This is, of course, Tara's handiwork, but she has never hated her imperative role as much as now.

Nod waits at the back of the room, standing apart from the rest. He feels conspicuous in his informal attire, and out of place leaning against the wall near the door instead of standing at attention in one of the ridiculously straight rows that the Leafmen ranks form. He considers leaving, just turning around and quietly slipping out the door, but there is an intangible tension in the room that demands he hold his breath and remain as still as possible. If he moves, if he makes a sound, the air might shatter.

Tara pulls in a long, deep breath, her slender shoulders lifting. Every eye in the room tracks the motion, anticipating her next move. Her shoulders gradually descend back to their normal, relaxed position as she releases the air in a silent sigh. Slowly, she turns to face her audience. Her steely black eyes lock onto Ronin's square face. "How far from the border were they found?" she demands. At the flow of her smooth, rich voice, the tension eases fractionally.

Ronin straightens, preparing himself with a deep breath of his own. "I don't know that we can use borders in terms anymore," he replies. "The Blight has invaded what used to be our land, and is probably still moving forwards as we speak."

Tara's face darkens furiously. "Which direction do you suspect it moves?"

"East," Ronin states confidently. "They aren't moving fast, but they are heading towards the center of our territory."

Everyone is silent after he makes this observation; they are standing in the center of the territory, in Moonhaven. Tara studies Ronin's face, and it is obvious to the rest of the Leafmen and Nod that they are all thinking the same thing: are the Boggans trying to reach Moonhaven, and, consequently, the Queen?

Nod crosses his arms over his chest, tucking his chin down as he waits for the next move. Like watching the players of a strategic mind game, he can practically hear the gears turning in Ronin's head. When he flicks his brown gaze onto Tara's calculating expression, he finds it harder to read. Nod has known Ronin for most of his life, but Tara remains something of a mystery. He narrows his eyes and struggles to understand. Is that fear he sees underneath her outer calm? Or is she angry? He doesn't know.

"What is our current patrol system?" Tara asks, breaking the quiet once again.

Ronin shifts his weight uneasily. "There isn't really a system," he admits. "It used to be more for precaution than actual need."

Tara lifts her chin in what Nod could almost assume was haughtiness. "Well," she says, "I suppose there is _actual need_ now. How many warriors can we spare every two hours?"

Nod sees the muscles in Ronin's back tighten. He waits, half expecting Ronin to turn and zero in on his unsubtle hiding place at the back of the room. But Ronin doesn't turn. "We wouldn't have enough," Ronin tells Tara regretfully. "We would all be exhausted by week's end if we tried to uphold that sort of schedule."

Nod supposes he ought to feel guilty, due to the fact that he quit the Leafmen ranks not two days before, and now this has happened. But he can't go back, or Ronin will have won. There was no verbal bet, but Nod knows that Ronin is only humouring his departure because he thinks that Nod will break and return to training like a good apprentice. He is sorry that they are short staffed in a time like this, of course, but he can't deal with Ronin's overbearing, demanding leadership, or he might end up hating Ronin. And he doesn't want to hate Ronin.

He stops listening to the conversation, tuning out the voices and instead watching Tara sink further and further into herself. Her confidant aura doesn't diminish, but Nod can see her shoulders steadily falling under the weight of demand. Her forest is in danger, and many lives depend on her next moves. Ronin's stance doesn't change, but he is taut enough to snap. Nod has never seen Ronin snap, but this new tension emanating from Ronin instinctively makes Nod tense. He doesn't even consciously realize that he has tightened his shoulder blades or that his fingers are shaking from the force he is exerting on them in response to Ronin, but when his neck starts to ache with the effort, he has to force himself to relax. He decides that this is enough. He isn't one of them, and he doesn't need to deal with it.

Dippy is waiting for him outside the hall, a shabby plow horse next to the thoroughbred hummingbirds. Nod pushes his fingers through the sparrow's feathers for a moment, reveling in the softness and pleasure of touch. Dippy twitches his head, giving Nod a round, shiny eyed look of simple-minded curiosity. With a smile and a final pat, Nod climbs up into the worn saddle and they flit away, leaving behind the problems he doesn't want to know about.

* * *

_A/N: I've decided that I like Fridays better than Mondays. You can expect updates on Fridays from now on (I hope)._

_Thanks to FishInAFadora, Pineapple-Sorceress, wolf girl811, Rachel, Fullmetal LeafWizard, thunder angel13, and Guest for the reviews! (By the way, guest, façade is originally a French word. Thus the funky c.) Special thanks for hpswst101 for the perceptive insight! I never think of the little things like that (facepalm)_


	4. Chapter 4

IV

Ronin pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger for the hundredth time. There are only so many options they have to consider, but the council of Leafmen in charge of making these decisions seem to insist on trying to find new options, or are simply reiterating what has been said only minutes before. All of this accomplishes nothing but a fresh wave of heated discussion, which will die down until the process starts all over again.

"How much area do we need to cover?" someone asks yet again.

"If we keep going at this pace, maybe it will be small enough for our numbers to cover," Ronin replies with forced, false cheeriness.

The other Leafman sends him a narrow look. "What are you implying?"

Ronin wants to roar, like he used to when Nod was being immature. "If the Boggans really are moving inwards like we suspect they are going to, don't you think we should be ready to meet them instead of chasing our tail in circles? I doubt that Mandrake is sitting to discuss tactics like we are."

"But we have a democracy, and therefore need to discuss all opinions and options," the council member retorts, and the matter seems closed. The circle starts again and the arguing continues.

Ronin grinds his jaw together to keep from saying something he may later regret. Across the room, Tara sends him a sympathetic glance. She feels the repetition grating as well, but she possesses far more patience than Ronin can claim. She can see that he is only barely clinging to his silence by his fingernails, and she senses that things need to wrap up sooner rather than later before Ronin gets physical, as he is prone to do. She stands from her seat, smoothing her long skirts around her. She clears her throat softly to call attention, and as if a switch has been thrown, every mouth shuts mid-sentence and every Leafman looks to her expectantly. She smiles at them and says, "Perhaps we should simply state our current position and adjourn for now, so that we have more time to consider without this pressure-"

She gets no further. Several armoured Leafmen burst into the room, causing a commotion loud enough to wake the dead. "Apologies, lady!" the leader gasps, touching his helmet in a half salute to Tara. "We have an invasion on the western border!"

Tara barely lets him finish. "Go!" she cries, and Ronin and the rest of the council run after the others. She lifts the many petals of her billowing skirts and runs after them. She is swift and light-footed, and quickly catches up to the others. They weave between grass strands and a shrill whistle lifts from the group. Tara looks up, still doing serpentine between obstacles. The fleet of hummingbirds swoops down and the Leafmen execute a nearly synchronized running mount, each hummingbird swerving up and away as soon as it feels weight settle in the saddle. There is no bird for Tara, but she doesn't need one. She kicks her green slippers off and digs her bare feet into the loose dirt, picking up speed so that she matches the pace of the birds overhead.

There is something surreal about this, Tara muses as she vaults over a tree root, her white skirts trailing out behind her. Through the towering trees and their curtain of leaves, the sky is calm blue, the sun a soft amber light that glows between living things to the ground far below. There isn't a breeze to be had, and the air is pleasantly warm; it is a perfect afternoon. But somewhere, Boggans are killing the green that surrounds her. Somewhere, death is prevailing over her domain. The two, death and this comatose forest, don't coincide.

A cry overhead makes her snap her head up. She can see the rose-coloured undersides of the hummingbirds glinting like feathery, living jewels in the sunlight as they move to create a formation. They must see the battle, she assumes, and she shuts down her train of thought. She forms a virtual tunnel, closing out the forest life that goes on around her. She can't see the warm afternoon sunlight anymore, and she can't hear the sweet trills of birdsong. She only sees the arrowhead of hummingbirds above, pointing her towards the struggle.

Later, she will worry about the forest on a whole. Right now, nothing matters but this small abrasion on the edge of her domain. If she loses a piece, eventually it will be another piece, and another, until it becomes entire. She can't let the Blight touch anything.

The hummingbirds drop from the sky, needle sharp beaks shooting with ethereal speed in what looks like a suicide dive. Tara can hear the clash of Leafmen and Boggans ahead. She closes her eyes, takes one last breath for the forest and plunges ahead to join the fight.

-:-

MK doesn't understand how her dad is still alive. There is so much junk lying around the floor of the house that one wrong step could send a person crashing down the spiral staircase to break their neck. Bomba wanders the house, pulling this and that out of random places, where apparently he has left them in his absentmindedness. His nose is constantly buried in textbooks or notebooks full of scribbled notes and childish doodles. Yet he navigates the maze with the ease of long practise, lifting his gangly legs over piles of cardboard boxes, neatly dodging towers of books, expertly stacking things that should never be capable of balance. MK sits on the bottom stair of the staircase, watching her father walk from one end of the house to the next and back again. She is grudgingly impressed.

When Bomba makes his way back from the kitchen, having pulled something of the long, metal sort out from its hiding place inside the unplugged toaster, MK tries once again to get his attention. "Dad?"

"Acorns," Bomba mutters into the ever-present notebook. "Of course!"

MK continues as if he had heard her, even if just to make herself feel better. "Do you have internet connection here?"

"But then why would the acorn I found still be intact? They would only need the cap for it…"

"Or a TV? Anything worth _doing_?"

Somehow, Bomba hears this. "Worth doing?" he inquires innocently, lowering the notebook to look at MK with the exact same eyes that she looks at him with. "There is always stuff to be done that is 'worth doing'." His face brightens as he ventures, "You could help me with my work…"

MK only stares at him. She has no idea what he does all day besides tempt fate by walking through this minefield of a house. She is saved from answering when an alarm goes off somewhere in the deep chasm of her father's office. He drops the notebook in his excitement, papers spilling everywhere. He ducks and weaves his way through the mess to take the call, and MK half expects him to start doing gymnastics to avoid knocking anything over. "I have to take this!" he cries from wherever he ended up.

MK plants her chin in her hand, waiting for him to reappear. "You do that," she replies softly, not entirely sorry to see him go. He runs into a vacuum cleaner on his way back out because he can't see properly through the helmet on his head. He looks like a bad cosplay of a terrible anime. The vacuum falls over, hitting a stack of boxes, which fall with a loud crash, spilling their contents all over MK. She jumps, startled. "Sorry!" Bomba calls, already outside, leaving the screen door hanging open. "I'll clean that up when I get back." Then he's off running, holding the helmet on his head with one hand; the other he carries several security cameras with full mounts ready to attach to tree limbs.

"Okay, Dad," MK calls back forlornly. She pulls herself free from the books and gadgets, letting them fall to the floor with unorthodoxly loud reverberations in response. She gingerly picks her way free from the mess and looks around her in despair. It is too claustrophobic in here! Is her dad a hoarder? No human should ever be able to retain so many boxes in such a confined space. She needs to get out of it, so she escapes to the slightly cleaner kitchen. Taking a moment to collect herself, she opens the refrigerator in hopes of finding some normalcy. Inside, the light bulb has been removed and the socket is now housing a series of wires that are connected to yet another invention. It looks far from stable or safe, prompting MK to shut the door and pretend she never saw it.

Deciding that she is hungry, she starts to rummage through cupboards. She finds more textbooks stored in the mixing bowls, and the dead husk of a moth falls out of the cup she takes from a shelf. She screeches and drops the cup, sending a cascade of broken glass over her boots. She scrunches her eyes shut and clenches her teeth. "That is it," she mutters, then louder, yells to the empty house, "That's it!"

When Bomba returns from his gallivanting about the woods, he finds the door still open and MK furiously sweeping dust off the porch stairs as if they have personally insulted her. "What are you doing?" he asks, slightly nervous of the answer.

"Cleaning," is her answer.

Fear takes over Bomba. "Have you thrown anything out?" he demands immediately, frantically dashing up the stairs to peer into the now-empty hallway.

"No," MK reassures him, leaning on the broom and cynically watching him panic. "I left anything suspicious-looking in your office for you to sort through."

"What do you mean by 'suspicious'?" he asks, affronted.

Instead of answering, she widens her green eyes solemnly and points towards his office. "If you don't throw some of that crap out, I will throw it out for you." She says it in a mock stern voice, mimicking the very tone her mother used to use when threatening her into cleaning her room.

Bomba recognizes the origin at the same time MK realizes what she is doing. He gives her a doe-eyed look and smiles gently. "Yes, ma'am," he murmurs, giving her a half salute and tugging the end of her ponytail teasingly as he goes inside to do as bidden.

MK swallows with some difficulty and rests her forehead against the handle of the broom. It still feels too soon to joke about things her mom used to do, but maybe her dad understands better than she gives him credit for. She smiles at the ground and sets to finishing.

-:-

Bomba is sitting cross-legged in the middle of a nest of papers in his office when MK knocks on the open door. He looks up at her, his face blue by the luminescent glow of several television screens, relaying the security camera footage he has going from various parts of the forest. "Dad," she starts, "do we have any legitimate food?"

He blinks. "What? You don't like my cooking?"

She awards him a bland look. "Dad, you made microwaveable ramen-in-a-mug for supper last night. And we had a cup of coffee each for breakfast this morning."

"I make good coffee," he retorts defensively.

"Of course you do. But I think I'll be doing the cooking from now on."

He looks a little hurt, but lets it go easily. "Check the fridge." He goes back to his papers, pauses and adds, "But you may want to check the expiration date before you start cooking anything."

MK ends up making more ramen-in-a-mug through the microwave again, because, as predicted, there was nothing to be had that was still in season. Bomba raises his eyebrows at the food she sets in front of him, but mercifully doesn't say anything. As her dad contentedly slurps soggy noodles, MK constructs a list of groceries. "Can I borrow your car to get these tomorrow?" she asks, waving the list under his nose.

He barks a laugh. "Car?" Seeing her blank expression, he stops giggling with some difficulty. "I don't have a car, Mary Katherine."

She feels some of her newfound vigor leave her. "How far is it to walk to the nearest town?" she asks weakly. She is a long-time city girl, and wishes Larry the friendly cab driver would magically appear to help her in her time of need.

"It's a five mile walk," he replies, already diving back into the ramen that seems to require his entire attention to consume. Eventually, he notices the astounded silence MK has fallen into and looks up to see her gape-mouthed. "What?"

"You have to walk five miles to get your groceries?" She closes her mouth. "Okay. Okay, five miles isn't too far. …then again, it's ten miles round trip." She wilts again.

"You could borrow my bicycle, if you want," Bomba offers. "It has a basket!"

* * *

_A/N: It's Friday again! So here, have a lame filler chapter that will eventually help to move this snail-paced plot along, I promise!_

_Thanks to Rachel and FishInAFadora for the reviews :)_


	5. Chapter 5

V

MK is exhausted by the time she reaches the outskirts of the tiny hamlet that resides five miles from her father's house. Bomba's bike squeaks as if the next rotation the wheels complete will be the very last it is ever capable of, but she supposes that since it got her here, it deserves some commendation.

The town has a grand total of one street, which boasts a schoolhouse whose doors haven't been open for fifty years, a post office with all thirty local mailboxes stapled haphazardly to the side of the building, and a gas bar with a sign so rusted it is illegible. MK grimaces when she realizes that this is the corner store her dad has given her directions to. She reluctantly wheels up to the tank and swings her leg off. She looks around for a bike rack to lock her bike into, but there is nothing. She moves to put out the kick stand, but it's broken off. With nothing else to do, she releases the handlebars and lets the bike collapse lifelessly onto its side. The acclaimed basket bounces on impact. MK contemplates the disgraceful heap for a second, but shrugs it off. Who is there to steal it?

When she enters the store, she is pleasantly surprised to find the interior air conditioned. The man behind the counter has his back turned to her, busily working on something out of her line of sight. When the bell over the door rings harshly, announcing her arrival, he flinches, but doesn't turn. MK sneaks past him, aiming for the floor-to-ceiling freezers at the back of the small store. She finds almost everything on her list, with the exception of some of the more specified luxuries she and her mother used to enjoy in the city. She double checks the expiration date on everything and has to dig to nearly the back of the freezer to find milk that isn't due the next day. Once she has everything, she heads to the counter.

After a few awkward minutes of waiting for the cashier to notice her, she reaches over and rings the clerk's bell next to the register. He jumps, whirling around with a hand clasped over his heart. He is old and seedy-looking, long grey hair hanging in straggly ropes around his skeletal face.

MK frowns. He is one of the activists who raided her dad's house. She forces the consternation from her face, smoothing out her brows. "Good afternoon," she says with somewhat tense friendliness. He swallows and quickly starts to ring her items through. MK peers over his shoulder to see what he had been so engrossed in that he didn't notice her. "Is that weed?" she blurts out. The plants in neat pots behind the counter are carefully tended to and she can't help but imagine the worst.

He gives her a petrified look. Then, to her utter surprise, he burst out with barks of laughter. "Cannabis?" he giggles. "No! This is a fern. A common fern."

MK blushes furiously. "Oh," she laughs lightly, embarrassed. "I never did excel at gardening."

He chuckles at her flustered response. Then he sobers. "Look," he starts, then he seems to stumble.

"Yeah," MK agrees, scratching the side of her neck awkwardly.

He starts to bag the items single-handedly, the other anxiously twisting the wire hoop in his ear. "Malcolm's hot-headed," he offers.

"My dad's a little insane," she supplies.

They chuckle nervously.

"Are the trees still dying?" she asks, watching the fluorescent green numbers add up on the little screen of the register.

His face draws. "Every day, a little bit more is gone grey. It ain't right, how fast it goes dead."

She looks at him helplessly. "What're you going to do about it?"

He shrugs. "Keep tracking the rot. Keep brainstorming for solutions. Try to keep Malcolm sane."

MK pulls her wallet out of her hoodie pocket. "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asks, hoping for a better result from him than she received from Malcolm.

"Yeah," he says, tallying up the total of her purchases. "Keep an eye on yer dad. Malcolm doesn't trust him."

MK starts. "Why's that?"

He compresses his lips together and shrugs again.

-:-

Tara helps Ronin bury three more warriors. None of them was very old, but Tara knows each of their names, and she comforts their family members with sincerity. Ronin offers them respect, but expresses a range of emotions to rival that of a pinecone's. When the ceremony is over, and the mourners have left, Tara sits down on the ground. Her skirts settle around her and she draws her knees up to her chest, holding them close with her crossed arms. She rests her chin on her knees and wills herself not to cry.

Ronin, stoic Ronin, stands a little ways from her, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. He looks conflicted for a moment, uncertain if he is willing to get involved. He shuts his eyes, lets out a gentle sigh and releases the sword. Then he approaches his monarch.

Tara turns her swimming black eyes on him when he kneels next to her. "I don't know how much longer I can keep this up," she whispers to him.

"But you will,' he insists, clapping a solid hand onto her shoulder. "This is your duty."

Her mild expression takes a turn towards outright mournful. "You never used to be so serious, Ronin. What happened?"

The sides of his thin mouth quirk up into some semblance of a small smile. "We grew up."

She chuckles wetly, brushing a hand under her eyes to wipe away the moisture. She shuts her eyes and smiles, swallowing her sorrow. "So serious," she repeats. As Ronin watches, he sees her shoulders set with conviction, and he tenses, sensing a bombshell about to fall on his orderly world. She opens her eyes again and looks squarely up into his face. It's always been something he admired about her, the openness of her self-assuredness. She never dances around the subject, but gives him a head-on, and he appreciates the frankness and honesty that she exhibits. "Ronin," she starts, "I've been queen for several hundreds of years."

He pulls his hand back, already knowing where she is headed with this topic.

"In a few days' time, it will be summer solstice."

He stands and his hand finds the hilt of his sword again. It's a habit.

Tara's gaze follows his face, and she looks so small and defenceless underneath his height. She parts her lips, takes a deep breath and finishes. "On the solstice, I am going to choose an heir."

"Why?" Ronin asks immediately. "Why now?"

Tara offers him a small smile. "Relax. You look as if you could attack me at any moment." When he stiffly releases the sword, she trails her fingers over her skirts, still smiling softly. "Do you remember? All those years ago, when we were younger… you used to smile. And you were so sweet and gentle. And ticklish…"

"Your Majesty," Ronin grinds out between clenched teeth.

"I feel an end," she tells him, lifting her eyes to his again. "I feel the need to complete. I need a closure." She picks up a leaf that is lying next to her and its stem extends around her fingers, forming fully developed roots. She lowers it to the ground and it takes to the soil. "I need reassurance that, if in the next hundred years my time comes, I have left the forest with backup. That I won't be the catalyst that ends this forest."

Ronin's stone face expresses nothing. He watches the tiny tree she has created unfurl petite leaves that are startlingly green with new chlorophyll. "Now is not a good time to be voicing death prophecies."

Though he delivers this with a withering tone, Tara giggles. "I don't know any better than you what tomorrow brings us. For all I know, I may yet have another hundred, three hundred years to watch over these trees." She wishes he would break a smile, emote _somehow_. "An end does not always mean death, Ronin. It's just opens the opportunities for new beginnings."

Her words wash over him without computing. "As your guard, I will tell you now that this is an extremely unwise move. You would be exposing yourself to ambush, as well as taking many warriors off of patrol or sentry duty. We could potentially be inviting a full-on frontal attack."

Tara stands, brushing loose soil from her white skirts. She calmly studies the dust motes that release from her skirts. "I am not helpless, you know."

"I am aware," he assures her. "But it is my duty to protect you, and in doing so, I must ask you to help me help you." He struggles internally for a second, and relinquishes. "I understand why you feel this urgency. But please, reconsider."

"The council meets again tomorrow afternoon, right?"

He blinks, startled by the abrupt change in subject. "Well, yes," he stammers, "but-"

She surprises him further by swooping in and dropping a peck on his cheek. "Good. We will discuss this further then." Her eyes sparkle with the return of her cheery disposition and she grins at his shell-shocked expression. "Oh, and Ronin? Please ask Nod to join you when you come."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: I've posted two chapters today (reasons given in a/n at the end), so if you haven't read chapter V yet, I would recommend you go back and do so! :P_

* * *

VI

Ronin sits across the table from Nod, but Nod can hardly bring himself to look at Ronin's stoic face. The entire left side of Ronin's jaw is painfully discoloured, and there are lacerations circling the general's neck. When Nod looks away, he is met with more injury. All of the other council members lining the hall bear some trace from the battle they have recently engaged in. It's like Nod's guilt has become visible.

Only Tara, who stands calmly at the front of the hall, remains a steady constant. She looks the same as always, except that the tenderness in her eyes has been reduced. She looks more cautious than caring now, but Nod is sure that, given time, she will be back to normal. Just as surely as the bruises on Ronin's face will fade, and Nod will be forgotten again.

The other council members are throwing quizzical glances in his direction. Nod is beginning to feel incredibly awkward, sitting across from Ronin with his hands folded in his lap. He fiddles with the fingerless gloves encasing his hands, focusing on his slender fingers. His eyes dart up to peek at Ronin, but nothing has changed on the glacial face across from him. He searches the room for a friendly face, but no one is looking remotely sympathetic. Tara might be willing to cut him some slack if he were to present her with his wide-brown-eyes look, but she is lost in thought. Nod slouches, trying to hide from the stony expressions surrounding him.

He leans across the table and whispers to Ronin, "Remind me again what I am doing here?"

Every face whips around to lock onto him and Nod freezes, stretched halfway across the table, as if hoping that if he doesn't move they won't notice him.

"Don't ask me," Ronin tells him with a hint of a smirk. "It wasn't by my request that you were invited to this council."

Nod turns to Tara. She is absently nibbling her thumbnail, trailing her other hand along the wall as she paces the length of the hall. The vines that are interwoven through the cracks in the stone follow her touch. Nod slides back into his seat and drills his stare into Tara, hoping she will come back to herself and relieve him of this inelegant position he seems perpetually stuck in.

Tara wanders the entire circuit of the hall before she pulls her thumbnail from her lips and faces the crowd of waiting Leafmen. "Tomorrow," she says gallantly, spreading her arms as if to welcome the coming day. "The longest day of the year; the summer solstice."

Bodies shift in their seats and murmurs ripple through the council members. Ronin is a statue and Nod peers around himself wildly, not understanding what has transpired. "_Now_, your Majesty?" one of the council members asks, and everyone else waits anxiously for her answer.

"Tomorrow," she repeats in affirmation.

The murmurs return full force, and Ronin slowly closes his bruised eyes, trying to shut out the inevitable. Nod still doesn't understand. "Excuse me," he says softly, but the accusing stares turn once again in his direction. "Sorry," he murmurs, "but _what_ exactly is tomorrow?"

"Summer solstice," Ronin replies flatly, ever helpful.

"Don't tease him," Tara scolds with a frown in Ronin's direction. "He's too young to know." Turning to Nod, she gives him the small, encouraging smile he's been hoping for since he sat down at this table. "Tomorrow- the solstice- is the only day I have every hundred years to choose an heir who will take control of the forest after I am gone."

Nod blinks. "But the summer solstice happens once every year. Why would you have to wait every hundred?"

Ronin sighs loudly, but Tara is unfazed. "Because the full moon only coincides with the summer solstice once every hundred years or so."

_Oh_, Nod mouths silently, and shrinks under the unrelenting stares of the other council members. He still doesn't know why he needs to be here, but at least he doesn't feel stupid anymore.

One of the council members stands to address Tara. "You're going to need a full battalion of warriors to watch your back, and patrol the area. We will need a minimum of-"

"No," Ronin interrupts, taking his own stand. "I would rather we be more discrete. Instead, we will take a small patrol, pick a pod and bring it back to Tara."

"That's not exactly 'choosing' an heir, then, is it?" Tara retorts wryly.

"Remind me again what I am doing here?" Nod squeaks. He is ignored.

"We need to be subtle," Ronin insists, planting his palms flat on the table as he leans closer to Tara. "Otherwise, we are sitting ducks for a Boggan ambush!"

"I do believe that, being the one to choose the heir, I ought to be there," Tara remarks mildly.

"We will have to cut regular patrol to fill the guard," another council member is commenting, already trying to calculate the normal grandeur and parade that ensues the choosing of an heir.

"What part of _'subtle'_ don't you understand?" Ronin snaps irately.

Tara holds up her hands, but for once, no one is paying her any mind. "Can we discuss this tactfully?" she requests, but no one hears her.

"It's a sacred ceremony," the council member counters Ronin. "It is meant to be extravagant."

"We can't afford extravagant," Ronin bites out. "You'll get us all killed."

Nod pushes his chair away from the table. "I'll just be going, then," he says quietly, trying to sneak away while the others are so preoccupied.

"_Sit down!_"

Every voice stops, everybody falls into their chairs and turn their eyes back to Tara. She lowers her arms and smiles at them, the icy demeanour she had employed moments before to gain their attention falling away immediately. She turns her head towards the door. "Nod?"

He freezes mid-step, and slowly turns back around to face the council. Tara indicates to his vacant chair. He reluctantly returns and sits heavily.

"Here is what we're doing," she says, sitting at the head of the table and folding her hands calmly. "We will send a scout ahead to search out the area. Then I, and a small patrol, will follow when the clear is given, and we will execute this procedure as quickly as possible, and be out before we are noticed." She looks at each face around the table in turn. "Understood?"

Murmurs of agreement punctuate the air, and Ronin jerks his head in grudging approval.

"Good." Tara settles back in her seat with satisfaction. "Ronin, I will leave you up to deciding the patrol. No more than a dozen warriors."

He touches his brow to her in agreement.

"And Nod will be my scout," Tara finishes, already bracing herself for the onslaught of opposition sure to follow.

"But I'm not a Leafman," Nod complains after the shocked silence fills the hall for the appropriate length of time. At the same time, Ronin is on his feet again.

"You can't send Nod, this is too important!"

"Hey!" Nod objects, turning a hurt face on Ronin. Ronin only shrugs at him.

"Let me explain," Tara says quickly, before more debate can drown her out again. "Because Nod is no longer a Leafman, he won't be a tell-all sign. He and his sparrow will blend into the background better than the obviousness of Leafmen armour, or a hummingbird can. Besides, it is my understanding that he is notable for his flying prowess, and should therefore be able to hold his own should Boggans prove to be a problem." She arches an eyebrow at Ronin.

"No," Ronin repeats with utter conviction. "This is far too crucial a mission to leave up to a boy. You can't entrust the potential outcome of the forest to him!"

Nod wants to bury his face in his hands. This has gone from embarrassing to debilitating. He can't believe Ronin is saying this in front of him. But instead of playing ostrich, he straightens his narrow shoulders and focuses on maintaining a blank expression.

The council members look from one impassable face to the next, waiting for either Ronin or Tara to break. Both are too obstinate to relinquish.

Nod clears his throat. "Do I get a say in the matter?" he asks cynically.

Ronin and Tara break their staring contest to turn on him. Nod refuses to meet anyone's eyes, but studies the table top in front of him. He feels weight pressing down on his shoulders, and for a long while he thinks that fear is going to push him under. He shuts his eyes, his eyebrows pushing close together as he struggles to breathe normally.

"Nod?" Tara queries, concerned.

It's not fear, he realizes. Not fear; guilt. He can't be a Leafman, he _can't_… but he is letting the others fight the Boggans alone. How many warriors have fallen while he is hiding in the forest with Dippy? What would his father think of him if he could see Nod now…?

"Yes," he says, opening his eyes again and breathing shallowly. He feels slightly sick. He can't look at Ronin, so he focuses on Tara's gentle face. "I'll do it."

-:-

MK doesn't see her father when she returns from town. She figures that he is out in the forest again, tramping down one of his many trails to find his latest breakthrough. She unloads the basket on the bike and carries the groceries into the house by herself. Still mistrusting the refrigerator, she takes all the perishables to the freezer in the basement. She flicks the light switch, hears a loud pop, and the naked bulb down below burns out. She sighs and proceeds into the darkness anyways.

The basement is void of all life except for a few red lamp lights that glow over some sort of porcelain containers. MK doesn't want to know what is contained inside, and finishes her task as quickly as possible to get out of the dank hole sooner than later. She rushes back up the stairs to the light, the old fear of the dark never quit letting her out of its grip. She sets to putting away the rest of the groceries, and soon finds herself sitting at the kitchen table, her chin cradled in her hand, bored once again. Her phone doesn't recognize any Wi-Fi connection in the area, let alone service bars, and she hasn't seen a television save the screens in her father's office that show monotonous footage of leaves.

She pauses, frowning. Once again, she wonders just what it is that Malcolm the Scary Activist finds so suspicious about her father. Why would he want the footage from her father's leaf-cameras? Her eyes glaze over, lost in thought, staring without seeing out the picture window near the table.

A hummingbird flits past the glass, tiny wings hammering the air with frenetic urgency. MK snaps out of her meanderings to track the little creature's spastic path as it bolts from one end of the window the next in a matter of seconds. As she watches, it shoots across the unkempt yard and disappears into the trees. MK narrows her eyes, spotting something amiss.

The screen door slams loudly shut behind her as MK skips lightly down the steps to the dusty driveway. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and thanks her lucky stars she had the mind to wear jeans instead of a skirt today. Trekking through the woods in a skirt is not ideal, as she has come to realize.

The hummingbird is long gone when MK reaches the edge of the forest. She leaves the driveway in favour of the approximate direction she saw the little bird go. She steps over a fallen branch and lifts some foliage, letting herself back into the shady, green space. She only has to go a few meters in before she finds what she thought she had noticed from the kitchen window.

A slender sapling is crumpled and bent, its young wood gnarled and wrinkled by lack of moisture. Its leaves are curled arthritically, and discoloured. Even from a distance, MK can smell the strange musk of decay. She doesn't move, but her eyes rove past the little dying tree to see more grey behind it. A wide stretch of trees are caving in with rot. MK wonders how long it will take before they fall to the forest floor in defeat. It's sad, she thinks, to see these titans of the forest succumb to illness.

She doesn't stay in the trees for long. The sun is going down and the temperature is quickly dropping in the shade of the trees. Most of her afternoon was taken by getting to and from town to do the grocery shopping, but she decides that tomorrow she will take a leaf from her father's book and go exploring. She wants to see for herself just how extensive this destruction has spread.

* * *

_A/N: There are two chapters today as an apology, because I have to put this story on hiatus for a couple of weeks. I'm going to Africa for ten days on a volunteer trip, and it is my understanding that there is very little internet access in Remote-Village-Somewhere-Near-Nairobi. (Lol, kidding. There is_ **no **_internet access in Remote-Village-Somewhere-Near-Nairobi!) __ I expect to be back sometime around July 19th (which is a Friday!) but I don't know how jet-lagged and/or exhausted physically/mentally I'll be when I get home, so I will make no guarantees for now._

_But I will be continuing as soon as possible, I promise!_

_Thanks are in order to xPaperheartsx, SupeyNinjaZora19, FishInAFadora and the lovely Rachel for their reviews._


	7. Chapter 7

VII

Nod settles into Dippy's saddle and the sparrow silently takes flight. Behind them, Ronin watches from Moonhaven, biting his lip as he grips the wall beside him in an effort not to expose his aching nerves. When the flying duo are a speck in the pale morning sky, Ronin turns from the view and walks purposefully away, his stride hesitating only once.

-:-

Nod leans close to Dippy, weaving easily between twigs and leaves. He sees a few bird-less Leafmen, stationed in tree branches, bows loose at their sides. Some of them salute his passing, but most ignore him. He returns the latter the favour, preferring to be unseen. He wonders if he should feel nervous, or scared; he is the one walking into what could plausibly be a trap. Despite this, he feels little of anything. This feels too normal, just he and Dippy enjoying the wind. Besides, he doesn't see how this could really go wrong. The Boggans haven't breached the Leafmen borders this deeply, and couldn't possibly know about this hidden location.

He smells water long before he sees it. It has a distinct, clear scent, like smelling nothing but still sensing something. The small pond that houses the pods that Tara will choose from spreads out like a silver stain on the forest floor beneath him. Dippy instinctively drops closer, skimming over the stagnant surface so that his wingtips leave gentle ripples in their wake. Nod laughs at the result, then remembers that he is supposed to be a scout and quickly shuts his mouth.

Too late.

A dart comes flying up over the water, and Nod releases a shout of surprise, dropping against Dippy's back with enough force that the bird automatically complies, folding in his wings and rolling to the side, losing altitude and shooting sideways away from the oncoming attack. Panting with adrenaline, Nod rights the bird and tries to find the source of the offense. Two more projectiles take flight, and Dippy goes into evasive action. He twists his wings and suddenly they are shooting straight upwards, dodging the onslaught easily. This time, Nod sees that it is not arrows being shot at them, but pine needles. They take to the air easily with their slender, aerodynamic shape, but their lack of weight makes them useless as weapons. They wobble and float harmlessly down to settle on the water's surface as soon as they lose speed. It's easy to track their trajectory back to a lily pad located near a bank of rushes, well disguised from the air.

"More arrows!" Grub the snail demands, holding out an appendage to his compatriot, Mub the slug.

"Arrows!" Mub drops several pine needles into the waiting appendage and watches Grub chuck them at the distant bird and rider, his mouth hanging open in a toothless grin.

"More arrows!"

"More arrows- again!"

Dippy has no trouble avoiding the needles, but Nod stands up in the stirrups, waving a hand at the pod keepers.

"What's that?" Grub squints.

Mub is doing likewise, his eyestalks extending. "It's that Leafkid, what's-his-face… Bud or something." He glares at the approaching bird. "Keep shooting."

Grub is appalled. "I can't shoot a Leafman! They would never let me join if I did that."

"Meeeeh," Mub drawls, dejectedly dropping the remaining needles into the water and letting them float away between the numerous pods.

Dippy lights onto a rush, gripping the stem as it droops under his weight. Nod slides over Dippy's head and lands on the lily pad next to Grub.

"Greetings, Leafman Bud!" Grub stands to attention in front of Nod.

Nod squints at the snail. "What?"

Mub snorts, covering his smug grin with his appendages. Grub gives him a smart smack upside the eyestalks.

Ignoring their shenanigans, Nod plants his hands on his hips and peers up at the sky from under the camouflage of the rushes. "Have you seen any Boggans?"

"No, sir!" Grub replies instantly, quick to please.

"Sir?" Nod falls out of his domineering stance to stare at Grub quizzically.

Grub shrinks under Nod's towering height. "Sorry, sir…?"

Nod laughs a little awkwardly, shaking a hand through his hair. "Never been called 'sir' before…"

Mub rolls his eyes dramatically. "No Boggans here, Leafboy. Now go fetch her lovely Majesty so we can get our parade on."

Nod turns back to Dippy with a scowl, muttering under his breath, 'The term is Leaf_man_…', but Grub speaks up once again.

"Actually, Leafman Bud…"

Nod spins, his face darkening. "I'm not a Leafman, okay?" he retorts with forced calmness. "I'm only scouting on a favour."

The two molluscs return his glower with blank expressions. "…right," Grub continues after a moment's hesitation. "Anyways… no Boggans, but we did see the Stomper come through here a few days ago."

Nod waits for the rest of the story, but neither Mub nor Grub is expediting any more information. "So?" he prompts.

"He put up another box," Mub says conspiratorially, leaning closer and softening his voice.

"Box," Nod repeats blandly.

"You know," Mub urges, "the 'box'." He traces air quotes around the word box with his eyestalks.

Grub points towards one of the trees surrounding the pond. "Right there!"

Nod looks in the indicated direction and easily spots the strange box-shaped contraptions the bizarre Stomper continuously seems to leave in its wake. "I can't see that being a major security issue," he says offhandedly. "But just in case, I'll do a quick round to secure the area and Tara will probably be here immediately afterwards."

"Aye, captain!" Grub says gruffly.

"Do your thang," Mub slurs comfortably.

Nod rolls his eyes and jumps back onto Dippy. They lift from the reeds and take to the sky, and this time, he stays close to Dippy's nondescript feathers. With his colourless shirt and common brown hair, he can hide in plain view on the bird's back. Dippy shoots around the pond, makes a full circuit and then widens the circle. Nod keeps a sharp eye on the surrounding wood, but he sees nothing out of place. There is not a Boggan to be seen, even when Nod shoots an arrow into the bark like Ronin always does. Growing despondent, Nod relaxes his guard and directs Dippy to a branch to rest, sliding off the bird's back to sit with his legs dangling over the side of the branch. They've patrolled the pond and surrounding area at least a dozen circuits and he feels that it is safe to say that the area is, well… safe.

He swings his legs, enjoying the feel of empty space spanning underneath the branch. Dippy flicks his head, half spreading his wings as he preens the under feathers. Nod leans back against Dippy's leg and sighs, "Better get this show on the road."

He stands up and straightens his shirt, pulling the leather brace around his shoulders tighter. Then something hits the back of his head, hard, and he feels himself falling. He yelps and claws, hoping for something, anything, to catch himself on. His fingers encounter a leaf stem, and he whiplashes to a halt, clinging grimly to his makeshift lifeline. He waits, half expecting whatever hit him in the first place to come back, but after a few agonizing seconds of blatant nothingness, he slowly cracks his eyes open. He scans the forest around him, even cranes his neck to peer behind him, but he sees nothing. He is hanging far below the branch he had been sitting on, but looking down below, between his feet, he sees a wide berth of leaves, and beneath them, another branch. Taking a breath, he lets go and drops lightly onto the leaves, sliding down safely to the branch below. The back of his head throbs, and he grips his hair. When he pulls his hand back, he is relieved at the lack of blood.

He hears a frantic sound nearby, leaves shuddering, and he slides back against the trunk of the tree, presses his head against the hard bark. But it's not a Boggan; Dippy releases a shrill twitter and struggles, thrashing through the leaves in primal terror. "Oh, no, no, no, no," Nod mutters, slinking along the branch cautiously, trying to avoid the flailing limbs. One of Dippy's wings is crooked and bent. Trails of blood trickle through the flight feathers, leaving jewel-like drops on the leaves. "Hold still," Nod demands in what he hopes is a calm voice, but he feels panic making his heart stutter.

There's a whirr behind him, and Nod's eyes drop shut in utter disbelief. He turns around, away from Dippy's alarm and comes face-to-face with an approaching wall of convex glass. His reflection on the shiny surface grows and distorts, his wide eyes bulging ridiculously. A red light starts to blink on the strange box that the Stomper has left in the tree.

Nod slumps. "Damn," he breaths.

-:-

MK wakes up to the sound of yet another alarm. It squeals somewhere far below her, a throbbing heartbeat under the floorboards of the house. She groans and rolls over in the tiny bed squeezed into the corner of her little room, squinting at the alarm clock. She's slept in a little, but it's still mid morning. She scrunches her eyes shut again, hoping that sleep will return to her, but no such luck. The alarm continues, drilling itself into the back of her mind where it starts to pound a tempo. That's when she rolls out of bed and stumbles away to find a way to make it stop.

Pulling on a pair of jeans over her sleeping shorts, MK pads downstairs, wincing as the alarm becomes exponentially louder the further she descends. "Dad?" she calls, trying to keep her mounting anger in check. She rounds the corner and finds her father passed out in a chair behind his desk, massive headphones obscuring his ears and knocking his glasses askew. He snuffles, drooling on the book his face is plastered in. MK reaches over and taps the iPod that his headphones are attached to. The screen lights up to display the image of several dark, winged creatures. The track is simply titled, "Bats".

"Oh, Dad," MK sighs.

Behind her father's desk, the alarm blares on. MK slips around his chair and begins shifting through the layers of papers and empty pen cartridges in vain search of a convenient, big red button that reads, "STOP ALARM". She bumps her father's chair with her hip, and something falls with a clatter from Bomba's belt. She swoops down to grab it, and picks up a hand-held GPS, screen blinking urgently. She unlocks the screen but the flashing continues, giving directions to a specified point labelled only as "X". MK drops the little device onto the desk and continues to search. Coming up with nothing, she moves to the next table, starting to grow frantic as the alarm begins to produce a pounding headache under her skull.

The computer screens on the table glow comatosely, stacks of blue squares, every one depicting leaves. A little round light blinks red on the bottom of one of the screens. MK experimentally pushes it, hoping it may help. It's a plastic bulb, and resists her force. She sighs, sitting down and resting her forehead in her hand, staring absently at the screens.

The leaves rustle in the screen above the blinking red light. MK squints at the grainy picture, and sees something move below the layer of leaves. The camera automatically locks onto the motion and zooms in. MK holds her breath as the picture clarifies, revealing-

She gasps, leaping from her seat. She snatches up the flickering GPS from the desk where she left it. She turns it right-side up and tries to make sense of the numbers and dotted lines. Then she groans in frustration.

Behind her, Bomba wakes up with a shout. "What!"

"Dad!" MK turns to him in desperation. "Quick! How do I read this?"

Bomba puts his glasses back on and the headphones drop onto the desktop. "What are you talking about?" His eyes widen when the alarm finally seems to register. "What is this?"

"The bird," MK gasps, her voice hitching. She points a shaking finger at the screen that is relaying the focused view of the writhing creature.

"Oh," Bomba says, pushing up his glasses and scrunching his nose to squint at the identified screen. "Oh! This is bad. This is bad! It looks hurt."

"Yes, Dad," MK agrees with fragile patience, shaking the GPS in front of his face. "Let's go!"

Bomba takes the GPS. "This isn't far from here." He clips it back onto his belt and starts crashing around his desk. "Need my helmet," he mutters.

"No time," MK snaps, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the door.

-:-

The screen door bangs shut behind them and bounces back open.

At the bang, Ozzie, who had been sleeping under the kitchen table, jerks awake. He immediately bounds upright and runs towards the sound. Between bounces, he slips through the opening in the door and trips on the top stair, tumbling down to the ground. Scrambling back up to his three paws, Ozzie smiles open-mouthed, tongue hanging, and gallops into the trees, chasing the long grass.

* * *

_A/N: Jambo! I'm back from Africa (: (it's very beautiful there, and the people are incredibly friendly and hospitable. It was a fantastic trip!) Thank you all for your well-wishes and patience._

_Thanks are in order to Fantasy-Mania31, gracieloohoo, FishInAFadora, Rachel and hpswst101 for the reviews/farewells, and a special thank you this time for Minirowan for the constructive criticism. I will be going back over the previous chapters, hopefully with a more critical eye, and try to fix the mistakes that I missed. Thank you for bringing that to my attention, and please don't hesitate to continue to do so!_

_Until next Friday, then! Kwaheri :)_


	8. Chapter 8

VIII

Nod doesn't know how to safely move Dippy without further injuring his wing. He hides underneath the Stomper's box, away from the convex glass and blinking light, but all he can do is helplessly watch his friend struggle. He speaks calmly to Dippy from his perch, hoping that the bird doesn't thrash off the bed of leaves that currently supports him. There is still a significant distance to fall if Dippy isn't lucky.

"Just hold still," Nod calls, crouching just under the box, his body folded over to grip the twig underneath his boots with his fists. His fingers are stiff from holding this position for so long, and he feels breathless, though he doesn't know why. "Ronin will know something is wrong when we don't come back, he'll come to find us, don't move, please, _please hold still_…" He hiccups, gasping around a tight diaphragm, which doesn't improve the hard feeling on the back of his throat. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out other than a soft whine. He snaps his teeth back together and fights the hot, itchy feeling on the backs of his eyes. He is _not_ going to lose it now, not in this situation.

Dippy still struggles madly, smearing the blood underneath his injured wing. Occasionally, he screams, short, pained cries that make Nod cringe.

"Hurry up, Ronin," Nod whispers brokenly.

The red flicker that had been reflecting on the leaves in front of the Stomper's box suddenly stops. Nod doesn't notice immediately, but when he does, he cautiously leans out from his uncomfortable perch to peer up the sheer side of the strange black box. The ethereal light that had been blinking there is dark and lifeless. Nod doesn't know what this means, but he likes it even less than when it was blinking.

He slides back out of view underneath the box, fixing his eyes instead on Dippy, who quivers with exhaustion and shock. Nod stays very still, anxiously waiting for whatever comes next.

The leaves shiver in anticipation, moving with a gentle breeze that is almost to light to be felt. Nod instinctively holds his breath, sensing something that had until now evaded him; the forest has gone silent. No bird noise frequents the upper branches and the sound of shifting leaves sounds eerie and disembodied.

A twig snaps. Nod startles so badly he nearly falls from his perch. He forces his held air out slowly through his nose, closing his eyes in an attempt to calm his nerves. He doesn't really feel any better for having done it, but when he draws in a new breath and opens his eyes again, he forces his limbs to relax, ready to drop from his perch and flee to safety if it happens to be what he fears it may be.

Squirrels are, in fact, just as terrifying and dangerous as mice and chipmunks.

Patience is not one of Nod's virtues, and he begins to grow fidgety as he waits for the forest's disturber to show itself. He wants to climb higher, emerge from the cover of leaves, to have a better view of whatever is approaching, but he can't bring himself to leave Dippy's side. The injured bird's forlorn cries are weaker now, and they pierce the fragile silence like a homing signal.

The twig underneath Nod shudders. He looks down at it sharply, but it falls still again. A heartbeat later, it vibrates again, hard enough that Nod can feel the motion roll up his limbs and shake through his spine. He clenches his teeth to keep from exclaiming in surprise and tightens his grip.

Periodically, the entire tree encounters gentle repercussions through the ground, small enough to be invisible but real enough that Nod feels it. Undergrowth and twigs snap, growing closer and Nod fights the urge to forcibly silence Dippy's pained sounds.

A low rumble emanates through the silence, abrupt and disturbing. Nod lets out a low moan, staring through his cover of leaves at the faces of two Stompers as they make their painfully slow way through the forest, crushing dead leaves and twigs under their feet like a pair of bears. He is at the same height as their heads, and he has never felt so small or horrified, maybe because he has never been so close to one before. They are too big to be real, but they murmur to each other in their bass voices, slow and almost unintelligible.

As they crash by, Dippy lets out a shrill shriek. "No!" Nod yelps before he can stop himself, but it doesn't matter. The Stompers can't hear him, but they can certainly hear Dippy. With what Nod can only assume is Stomper-paced swiftness, they turn towards the direction of the sound, hushing their slurred voices and thundering forwards. Almost too late, Nod realizes that he is directly in plain view if the Stompers happen to look at their strange box, but he doesn't want to leave Dippy to fend for himself. Torn, he nearly doesn't decide, but just as enormous hands reach up to lift the leaf cover, he lets go of the twig underneath him and lets his body plummet down towards the unyielding ground below.

-:-

"Gently," Bomba admonishes needlessly as he watches MK gather the little bird's broken form into her hands. She wants to snap back at him, but she knows that he is only being nervous, so she shuts her mouth firmly and instead focuses on following his suggestion.

It's a sparrow, she sees when she lifts the body from the strange nest is was cradled in. Its body is small enough to fit in one of her palms and it feels paper-light. A strange sensation of power follows, like one wrong move could crush its delicate form. MK has never felt so large and ungainly before. She doesn't know if she likes this notion.

"How's he doing?" Bomba asks, shoving his glasses further up his nose and squinting, pushing his face closer to the bird than MK feels comfortable with.

The sparrow is frantic, flapping its good wing, its tiny feathered breast heaving with panicked terror. "I don't know that we should move him," MK says doubtfully, trying very hard not to drop the frenzied body that beats her hand with one feathery limb and pinches her palm with two clawed.

"Let's take him back to the house," Bomba insists, cupping his hands underneath MK's as if he's afraid she will drop her weightless burden.

"Isn't there a rule about this? 'Never touch a baby bird'?" MK asks, reluctantly following her father as he starts the trek back to the house. They really aren't that far from the yard, but the trees are thick surrounding this little hollow, and they have to make a wide trek around them to avoid getting stuck in the brambles, which makes the trip twice as long as it could have been.

"That's not a baby bird," Bomba points out. He holds a branch out of MK's way and lets her take the lead. She tries to tread lightly so as not to jostle the bird's injury.

The whole trip home, MK barely notices what passes by her. She focuses intently on her ward, pausing when the bird screeches with pain or fear, keeping her hand curled so that it doesn't fall but keeping her fingers relaxed so that the bird doesn't feel tension and panic. Bomba opens the screen door for her and she carefully climbs the stairs to enter the house. When the shadow of the door frame falls over the bird, it cries out again, frightened by the sun's vanishing act.

While MK stands in the hallway, still cradling the bird, Bomba searches out a shoe box and fills it with rags. MK tries to gently settle the bird into the cushioning, but it has a grip on her little finger and the transition doesn't go as smoothly as planned. The bird shrieks and shrieks, ear-piercing reports of discontent while MK tries to peel its little talons free. Once it has fallen gracelessly into its new nest, Bomba carries it to the bathroom and shuts it inside, without turning the light on.

"What are you doing?" MK asks, frowning at the closed door.

"Dark rooms are calming," Bomba explains, ushering her away from the bathroom. The bird's plaintive voice is still shrilling from behind the wood.

MK arches an eyebrow at her father. "I hope you never shut _me_ in a dark room when I was little," she mutters dangerously.

Bomba chuckles nervously. "…of course not..."

-:-

Nod wonders what Ronin is going to think of him if he ever gets back to Moonhaven. There would be a lengthy lecture, Nod muses, and then that emotionless expression that somehow expresses a shocking amount of displeasure. In the end, Ronin would shake his head and mutter something along the lines of, '_incapable_', or '_need to learn teamwork_', or the ever uplifting, '_shouldn't have trusted you with something of this importance_'.

The morning is quickly falling away to the heat of high afternoon, and Nod should have been back to Moonhaven with the results of his scouting trip ages ago. Maybe Ronin and Tara are concerned for his well-being at the moment, but when he returns to Moonhaven bird-less with a negative result, they are going to be something mad. Nod grimaces.

He jumps over a tree root, but miscalculates and barely clears the top. He catches himself on the cracked bark and hauls himself up, pausing to sort out his situation. He's not going back to Moonhaven, not until he has Dippy back. He slides down the tree root and takes off at a trot, easily covering ground with his long strides. The Stompers are unsurprisingly easy to follow, even if they already have a head start on him. Their heavy feet leave obvious indents in the soft earth, and Nod can see their trail for what seems like miles ahead.

He is sore from over-exertion, and tired from the events leading up to now. His head still hurts from where Dippy's wing clipped it in their confusion immediately following Dippy's injury. Nod pauses in his trek, rubbing the back of his head thoughtfully. What had even hurt Dippy in the first place…?

He grimaces. No time to ponder. Dippy is getting farther and farther away with every passing moment, and Nod doesn't want to be away from his bird, or Moonhaven, any longer than he needs to be. Ignoring his headache and other mild ailments, he takes off again, grimly praying everything would be worked out by nightfall.

But that, of course, would have been too easy.

* * *

_A/N: Gah! Another filler chapter! ...I am so sorry. :(_

_To be honest, it's getting a bit hard to fall back into the swing of things since I got back, but things will pick up again, I promise! (I make a lot of promises, don't I?)_

_Anyways: thanks to Rachel, AwesomeHellee9, Minirowan (I did go back over all the previous chapters, so any remaining errors are either intentional or because I just rock like that :B), hpswst101, xPaperheartsx, DragonsOfAtlantis, and Pineapple-Sorceress! Wow, I think this is the most reviews I've gotten on a chapter so far! Thank you all!_

_Now, to conclude this strangely long a/n, I have to get out of bed and get ready for work for the first time since I re-entered Canada! I'm not going to cry, I love my job! ...love my job... *sobs*_


	9. Chapter 9

IX

"Veterinarian?" Bomba asks, blinking owlishly behind the minuscule lenses of his round glasses.

"Yes, Dad, a _vet_," MK replies impatiently. "He needs proper attention, and we both know that we can't give it to him. We're only going to hurt him worse."

"N-no," her father answers flatly, already turning back to the notebook he was lost in before MK bugged him into talking again. "I don't think we need a veterinarian."

MK sighs angrily, a short burst of hard air rushing between her teeth. "_Why not_? Don't tell me you don't own a landline, either?"

He mutters something into the loose-leaf under his nose, pen already tapping a nervous rhythm on the table top.

In disgust, MK leaves. She kicks around the living room, searching for something to occupy her mind. Half-coherent thoughts float through the mess that tangles in her head.

In the end, she can still hear the injured bird's cries from the kitchen, a floor below the bird's impromptu prison. She cradles the book she has dug out of one of her father's shelves, trying to focus on the print, but the words seem too small and they smoosh together, adamant to defy her. She picks out a few words that contain far too many consonants and not enough vowels and that's when she puts it down in resignation. _So much for a distraction._ The book is obviously some sort of science journal her father is enamoured with, but she was only looking for something to lose herself in, something that would capture her attention so that she could ignore what was going on around her.

Reading had been her solace when her mother was still ill. By finding a fantasy, she could pretend that this world was the fairytale, and that the story was reality.

Science is a little harder to romanticize.

MK winces and covers her ears when another plaintive cry of sheer terror rips through the ceiling and drills into her. The poor bird is petrified, but what can she do? She leans forward and rests her forehead on the hopeless book, still clasping her ears in desperation. The title of the book looms under her nose and she can make out a few words, empty meanings floating through her confused thoughts.

She pulls back, frowning at the words. She flips the book over and scans the summary on the back, but it's not clicking. Now she hardly hears the bird as those partially-formed thoughts start to fall into place and lock like puzzle pieces.

Then she's mad.

-:-

Nod never liked Stompers. But then again, he never had given them much thought other than to laugh at their ridiculous voices, or mock their bizarre motions. They were just the big, dumb creatures that can't move faster than a snail, moaned languages like something in pain and towered at heights that rivalled the trees, proving more ominous than curious.

Now, however, he isn't so sure that they are creatures to be despised or awed. Nod cranes his neck back until he nearly falls over, and he still can't see the pinnacle of this abode. Looking back at his own eye level, he reaches forward and taps the base of the wall with his knuckles, tentative as if fearing it would fall at the lightest touch. His eyebrows lower in consternation when he realizes that the entire, monstrous building is constructed of wood. _How many trees would it take to build something of this size?!_ He opens the fist he used to knock on the wood and runs a fingertip over the ridged surface thoughtfully.

Then he shakes his head, brown hair flying loose. No time to think about this, Dippy is still trapped inside! …he assumes. He never actually saw the Stompers go inside, let alone the injured bird, but the trail of heavy footprints lead to this building, and there are no other Stomper residences close by, that he knows of.

Nod frowns and crosses his arms, fingering the metal circle in the leather brace around his torso. It used to hold his Leafman sword, but now serves little purpose other than to amuse him when he falls into a funk, or needs to think. Right now, he needs to figure out how to get into the Stomper's home without being noticed or caught. Hopefully, if he achieves the first, the second will be a given. Around and around the metal circle goes, but his thoughts are confused and don't go anywhere.

Dippy's inside somewhere… injured… and he, Nod, is outside. He's outside. How does he get in…?

With a growl of frustration, he throws his back against the wooden wall and slides to the ground, letting out a long, angry breath until his lungs feel collapsed. He lands on his rear in the dust, with his back pressed to the wall and his head leaned back so that he stares straight up the sheer wall. He slowly sucks in another breath, closes his eyes and reaches up to brush a loose piece of hair off his forehead.

Maybe he should have gone to Moonhaven, instead of following the Stompers here. Then he would have had Ronin to help him. And maybe a squadron of Leafmen, if they were feeling sympathetic. But… no, when he slows down to think about it, he's done the right thing. They never would have found Dippy unless he followed the Stompers here as he has done. Should he go to Moonhaven now? Is there time?

Will Ronin help him, even if he goes?

Nod opens his eyes and parts his lips in another short burst of a sigh. When he gave up the title of Leafman, he gave up the alliance that goes with it. No one would be obligated to help him, even if he implored for it.

He decides that he should at least leave, because sitting here accomplishes less than anything else. He knows he should move, but he doesn't feel the energy to get up. He just stares up the wall to the grey-coloured sky, staring along the surface of the wood, staring at the strange ledge that interrupts the smooth ascension…

How long has that been there?!

He didn't notice it before, but there is a literal ledge protruding from the impossibly straight wall, wide enough for several Leafmen to stand on, but far too high to jump up to. Suddenly rejuvenated, Nod bolts up from the wall and jogs away, trying to see it better. When he's far enough away that he can get a proper view of the ledge, he can deduce that this is some sort of view hole, covered in a transparent material. He even flinches back when he sees into the home, where a Stomper thunders slowly past.

It's an entry point, one way or another. Nod feels a ludicrous grin spread across his face, and he bounces on the balls of his feet, anticipating his plan of action as it starts to form in the deep recesses of the unreasoning part of his mind.

Who needs reasoning anyways?

-:-

"It's been too long," Tara murmurs, and Ronin grudgingly agrees.

The small piece of hope that had been glowing in the back of his subconscious is smothered in crushing disappointment and dies under the weight of pessimistic thoughts.

"We should never have trusted him with this," he mutters witheringly, and instantly feels ashamed when Tara throws him a look of such hurt that he could have personally insulted her.

Tara looks away, nibbling her lip, her eyes narrowing. "We can't leave him out there," she says, her voice taking on a hint of flint; Ronin has to suppress the urge to flinch. "He could be in trouble."

"Not you," he replies instantly, unintentionally reaching out and encasing her upper arm in an iron grip. "You are going to stay here with your usual guard."

She doesn't reply immediately, but looks down at his hold on her. Finally, she sighs and says softly, "I know." Then she turns shining black eyes up to him, half-lidded and veiled behind lowered lashes. "But you'd better bring him back alive."

It isn't a threat as much as an almost concealed plea. "I will," he vows, and when he does, he can almost convince himself it's more for her sake than his own.

"I'll go alone," he announces, and no one argues, because they know that it will be faster and easier this way. He leaves in the minute, after situating a satisfactory guard over Tara, even sending a patrol around Moonhaven for safe measure. His hummingbird flits from the kingdom and shoots away over the leaf litter, intent on Mub and Grub's pond. And while he hopes he will find Nod, he also finds himself hoping he won't, because he doesn't want to discover that the kid has caused them all- even Ronin himself- to worry for no reason.

Ronin shakes his head. If he does find Nod, he doesn't know how he would handle it. Anger doesn't seem to affect Nod's cheerful demeanour, but Ronin doesn't know how else to deal with him.

But what if he doesn't find Nod…?

He shakes his head again, violently. He won't think like that. It won't _be_ like that.

Because it can't be.

The hummingbird easily navigates through the briars hanging from the trees surrounding the pond and soon the spread of water sprawls underneath them. Ronin narrows his eyes against the glare of the fading sunlight against the water. He scans the surrounding area, does several circuits, peers through the foliage, but finds nothing. Starting to grind his teeth in frustration and pushing down a shudder of panic, he directs the hummingbird to the mollusks' residence. "Hey!" he roars, to get their attention.

"Leafman!" Grub squeals, more in delight than response.

Mub groans melodramatically. "Again?"

"Shut up," Ronin retorts tersely. "Have either of you seen Nod?"

"Uh…" Grub furrows his eyestalks in concentration. "The Leafman Bud! Yes. We saw him this morning."

"Mmhmm," Mub interjects, simply wanting to be heard.

Ronin rubs the aching point under his temple. "Nod," he repeats. "His names is Nod. You haven't seen him since?"

"Nn-yope," Mub drawls, as Grub salutes, "No, sir!"

Ronin fights the urge to knock their eyestalks together. He doesn't really despise them, he's only feeling a little stressed. "Right," he says instead, pulling his bird's reins back together. "Thank you for your help." _Or lack thereof. _

He pushes the bird, and they shoot away before Ronin succumbs and does something he would later regret. Instead, he crushes his eyes shut and tries to think. What would Nod do that could cause him to be so late?

What _would_ Nod do? Ronin should know; he's taught the kid almost everything he knows. The first thing that he, Ronin, would do on a scouting mission would be to circle the perimeter of the area, then make progressively smaller circles inwards, scanning the entirety of the area. He distinctly remembers teaching Nod this very lesson once upon a time, and now he sincerely hopes that it filtered through that ridiculous head of hair and stuck somewhere. Pushing out a tense puff of air, Ronin directs his bird into a wide circle, preparing to do his own scouting mission.

Circles and circles later, he still has nothing. He has covered the entire area, and starts again, wide circles that tighten down until they have seen everything there is to see. And there is still no Nod. Ronin instructs the bird to fly lower, drawing closer to the leaf cover until they skim over the uppermost layer. Tighter and tighter still, and then-

-and then Ronin feels sick.

The hummingbird feels his tension and flits nervously out of its preordained path. Snapping back to his senses, Ronin moves in for a landing, choosing a nearby branch, but he is too distracted to concentrate. The hummingbird skims the branch and knocks against the trunk in a clumsy manoeuvre, dislodging Ronin from the saddle. The general tumbles from the hummingbird's back, somehow maintains his uprightness and stumbles onto the branch, landing on his knees. Without bothering to re-gather his dignity, he shuffles the length of the branch and peers over its edge to the bank of leaves far below.

Gruesome splatters of crusting, congealed blood, turned brown with exposure, splay out over the leaves, stark in contrast to the deep green underneath. Ronin takes several deep breaths through his nose, already mentally berating himself for overreaction. Nothing in this scene confirms Nod's involvement. He doesn't need to freak out yet...

Or at least, that is what he would have convinced himself, had he not noticed the arrow lodged in the wood directly below his resting spot. With a grunt of surprise, he scrambles back to distance himself from the dart, but not before he notices the brown, bedraggled bird's feather that has been pinned to the tree's bark by the arrow.

Unfortunately, it isn't this that terrifies Ronin; what sets his limbs to trembling and his composure quaking, is the fact that, despite the rot that has discoloured the flights, the arrow is unmistakably Leafman.

-:-

MK is still fuming when she thunders past Bomba's office. He pokes his head out the door, watching her tromp past in confusion. "Mary Katherine, have you seen Ozzie anywhere?"

"No," she snips back immediately.

"Right," he gulps, ducking back into the safety of his dark office, cautiously shutting the door behind him.

Snatching up the dilapidated phone book that looks to be three years out of date, MK trundles back up the stairs to her bedroom, throws her window open and leans over the sill until she is stretched out along the roof, half-hanging out her window. With the toes of her boots hooked in her bed frame, she only feels mostly certain she won't fall out, but even in this precarious position, her cell phone shows only one bar. It's not enough! She stretches even further, hearing the bed groan somewhere behind her; but the phone suddenly displays three bars, and her satisfaction outweighs her sense of self-preservation. Clumsily flipping the pages of the phone book's yellow pages from where it lies on the roof's shingles next to her elbow, she finds the number she wants and hurriedly punches it in, wanting nothing more than to get this over with and return to the familiarity of two feet firmly planted on the floor _inside_ the house.

The phone rings for an agonizing minute before someone finally picks up. "Hello?" she demands before any introduction can be made on the other end of the line.

"You've reached the Jaeger Animal Hospital," a dark, male voice growls over the staticky line. "Dr. Malcolm Vogt speaking."

* * *

_A/N: Holy crackers guys, I almost forgot to update today! D:_

_Between carpooling with my dad- which forces me to be awake and alive an hour earlier than I normally would be for work- and getting an average of 4-and-a-half hours of sleep for the last week... My co-worker broke her leg, because, comically enough, her horse tipped over on top of her (really, it's not funny at all, but the imagery I always seem to conjure cracks me up :P) so I'm working my hours PLUS her hours PLUS weekends, and a couple of evening shifts for the next two weeks... My parents are leaving for said next two weeks, leaving me to babysit my little sister, our grandparents and five possibly mentally-handicapped cats (shallow gene pool. don't ask.)... Throw into the mix the fact that I have a new computer for university, and I'm struggling to make the transition from PC to Mac... needless to say, this has been a bit of a mess._

_And then I realized yesterday that I had run out of reserve chapters, not to mention the fact that this one wasn't even finished! I had a mild freak out. Only mild._

_But, here it is. Sorry to dump my ridiculous life on you. Enjoy the chapter and ignore me!_

_Thanks you's to: DragonsOfAtlantis and Katherine for the reviews; special thank you's to Rachel and Minirowan, because you guys make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and I seriously appreciate the continued support right now. Hugs for you all! _


	10. Chapter 10

X

Tara sits cross-legged on the top of Moonhaven, her guards stationed at the edges of the rocky formation. While she's grateful for their protection, she can't help feeling a little bit resentful, wishing she could be alone for a moment. She stares blankly ahead, twisting her fingers together. Anxiety makes them shake.

Something is going to go very wrong.

-:-

MK waits nervously at the end of the lane, shuffling her feet to burn off some of her restlessness. In the basket set carefully on the ground, the bird coos softly, clearly having grown exhausted. Its terrified cries have softened to forlorn calls. Nestled on a bed of kitchen rags, it's settled as best as it can, its injured wing lying awkwardly at its side. MK keeps her distance, knowing that trying to make friends would only stress the creature further.

The crackle of gravel farther down the road snaps her to attention, and she looks up to see a dusty, old car inch its way around the corner and approach her. Her mouth flattens into a grim line, but she raises her hand to catch the driver's attention. The car slows to a halt a few feet away from her and Malcolm the scary-activist-who-is-also-apparently-the-only-vet erinarian-in-ten-miles gets out. He marches towards her, looking as murderous as the first time they met. MK wonders vaguely if he is always this miserable, or if her father elicits a special response.

The man stumps across the distance between them and stoops abruptly in front of the basket. As MK silently observes, he gently turns the makeshift nest slightly to inspect the bird's injury, and, to her surprise and relief, the bird is calm under his administrations. Malcolm carefully gathers the basket into his large hands and carries it back to his car, setting it on the floor on the passenger side. The bird chirps nervously, sharp sounds that are abruptly stopped when he shuts the door with a snap. He throws a glance back at the teenager waiting with her hands shoved deep in her pockets. She returns his look quizzically, but, without a word, he turns and climbs back behind the wheel. As she watches, he eases the car out of park and drives away.

Not a word was exchanged, but MK feels relieved, strangely assured that the bird is in better hands now.

-:-

Nod ponders the wall in front of him. It's just wood. It can't be that different from climbing trees. He cocks his head, but it still looks daunting. It's too sheer to be like any tree he's ever climbed, but the opening that he wants to reach is straight above. He sighs. It's going to be hard, but Dippy is somewhere inside, and he is going to get that bird, if it's the death of him! ...which he hopes it won't be...

With that, he sets with determination and puts a hand on the wall, searching for a handhold. He starts to climb, jumping short distances and catching himself on the rough surface, until he suddenly reaches up and finds nothing above to hold. He pulls himself up and rolls onto the ledge below the opening. Lying on his back, he stares up at the opening, suddenly daunted by its immense size. He's exhausted from the climb, but he's made it, and he's one step closer to reuniting with Dippy.

Panting slightly, he sits up and leans forward on his knees. He shakes out his hair and pushes himself to his feet, rearranging the leather brace around his shoulders. Then he slowly approaches the transparent material covering the opening. Pressing his hands flat to the surface, he peers inside the Stompers' residence, and his eyes widen.

-:-

MK swings the screen door shut behind her, checking to see that it is closed. She pushes her bangs back out of her eyes and decides that she is hungry. She wanders to the kitchen and all but runs into Bomba. He yelps, scrabbling to keep a hold on the mountain of items in his arms. After a nearly comical disaster, he maintains his grip and shoves his glasses farther up his nose with the edge of a book. "Oh, hello. What're you up to?" he inquires, attempting a smile.

She narrows her eyes at the load he's carrying. "Food," she explains simply, and he accepts this easily.

"Right," he agrees. "Well, I have work to be done..."

She quirks her mouth in a cynical smile. "Sure." She stoops over to pick up a small container that he dropped and adds it to his pile. His half smile collapses and he steps around her to leave the awkward position. She watches him stumble away, then heads in the opposite direction. She stops in front of the bookshelf that dominates the living room wall and examines the spines. Science journals stare back at her, practically jumping out of their covers in eagerness to be chosen. _Oh, me, me, me! Pick me! Pick me!_

She narrows her eyes with decisiveness and pulls out a book boldly labeled Flora Dichotomous Key.

Then she slips the rarely-used back door open, a more subtle exit from the house, with the book tucked under her arm.

-:-

The wall _opens_. Nod has never seen anything so colossal move, and he doesn't know whether he should be terrified or awed. Settling for a confused mix of the two, he watches anxiously as the massive form of the Stomper inside emerges into the sunlight.

Perhaps it is the fact that this is the first time he has ever bothered to really look at the creatures; perhaps it is the fact that he is running on stress levels because of the current situations; but he can't help but notice just how similar this Stomper looks to an oversized Leafman. If this female were smaller by meters and dressed like a normal Leafman, she could be easily the correct proportions and anatomy to pass for a Leafwoman.

Then he shakes his head. _What_ was that thought?

But it's true. She's nothing unusual, this Stomper with the red hair, slowly making her way out of the wall. She looks... normal. In an over exaggerated sort of way.

A reverberation through the wood beneath him makes him jump. Nod glances sharply away from the Stomper's face, and realizes that the wall has closed again behind her.

The wall is closed. It was open... and now...

_Damn!_

He's missed his chance! The entrance to the Stomper's abode was wide open, for ages as the Stomper exited, and he didn't make a move! He was too busy analyzing the normalcy of a Stomper's visage. _Idiot!_

He almost wishes Ronin were there to give him a smack upside the head.

But now what? He can't get in, he's missed a prime opportunity, he can't contact Moonhaven, he's so frustrated, he could just- just-

There's nothing. He's out of ideas. _Again_.

He slumps to his rear again, planting his elbows on his knees and shoving his fingers through his hair, gripping handfuls of brown locks in desperation. Now what? Random thoughts form and peter out, rejected as hopeless and growing more and more ludicrous in his frustration. The heavy footfalls of the Stomper's retreat doesn't make his concentration any easier.

In fact, it's highly distracting. He peeks between his fingers, watching the wave of fiery red hair, longer than he is tall, move slowly over the grass and towards the trees.

_Where is she going?_

Without even acknowledging his newly formed plan, he leaps to his feet and skitters to the edge of the ledge he's perched on. Dropping over the side, he squirrels his way back down the wall, twice as fast as he was ascending, and lets himself fall the last few feet to the soft grass below. Then he's bolting, running across the wide span of the grassy plain stretching in front of the Stomper's residence. He can still see the coppery head of the Stomper floating over the tops of the grass that towers over him, and he aims for it.

Stompers are surprisingly easy to catch up to and tail, he discovers quickly, especially when they haven't had a long head's start. He is soon close enough to have to crane his neck back to see the creature's face, a strange mash of features that don't make sense from his vantage point far, far below her's. Then her foot thunders down, too close to his miniaturized form for comfort, and he decides that he needs to even the playing field.

The Stomper has reached the trees, and Nod uses this to his advantage. He scales a tree root, worms his way up a reedy shrub that grows alongside the tree's trunk and gradually makes his way up towards the branches. It's easy to leap from branch to branch once he's reached a decent height, and he quickly catches up- even passes- the Stomper, who makes her relentless path onwards, oblivious to her companion.

He hesitates briefly, wondering just why he is chasing a Stomper, let alone why he is chasing a Stomper away from Dippy's captivity, but he doesn't stop to ponder. The Stomper, slow though she may be, is fiddling with something in her enormous hands, and Nod's curiosity outweighs all other notions of reason.

He chases the Stomper through the slim stretch of wood that borders the real forest, where the undergrowth that usually obscures the ground is much thinner and easy for the Stomper's awkward motions to manoeuvre through. He notices that the direction the Stomper is aimed towards is heading directly towards Moonhaven, and that, should she veer a few meters into the deeper forest, she would stumble straight onto Tara and a platoon of Leafmen warriors. He is just beginning to wonder if he should employ some form of distraction to change her course, averting disaster, when he realizes that he has left the Stomper several meters behind. She has stopped suddenly, and is in the action of crouching close to the forest floor. Nod turns on his heel and skims over the branches back to her side, moving as lightly as he can to avoid detection. He stops at a lower branch, one that brings him to the level of her waist, but since she is kneeling, he now towers over her. Figuratively.

Something heavy drops from the Stomper's hands and thuds onto the forest floor. Nod leans away from his branch to inspect the book as it bounces open, revealing multiple pages, colourful pictures and print obscuring the white paper. The Stomper leans over the book and paws through the pages. Nod tilts his head, trying to see the words.

The Stomper rumbles, and Nod flinches. He struggles to hear the words in the monotonous drone of sound coming from her, but there are none. The Stomper moans, as if in pain.

Nod leans out further from the tree, nearly tipping forwards, but he can finally make out the sentences filling the pages. The words are massive, Stomper-sized, but he is pleasantly surprised to find that they are written in a similar language to that which he knows. He's not an avid reader, and is actually rather slow when it comes to reading, but he scrunches his brow, muttering the words he can decipher out loud. Most of them he doesn't understand, and sometimes the language becomes meaningless symbols, but he understands the gist of it.

And he doesn't like it at all.

* * *

_A/N: So, I finally managed to sit down, get my butt in gear, hammered out a couple of chapters, and voila. It's Friday again. So we should be all good in the near future unless, you know, the world ends or something goofy like that._

_Thank you to: Minirowan (x2 lol), gracieloohoo, Katherine, Guest, and Rachel for the very sweet reviews._


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Let it be known first and foremost that I am an_ art student_. I realize that there are likely to be errors, as I am going on only grade 12 biology intelligence, so please feel free to point out errors, but realize that this is _fiction_. The plant described here is a creation of my imagination, so please don't try and identify it on me, because you're only going to confuse me. Ok. That's all. Thank you._

* * *

XI

MK moved to the city with her mother when she was seven. That was a decade ago. Her mother was diagnosed with terminal cancer three months ago; passed away two months later. She hadn't spoken to her father in the weeks- no, months before that, hadn't seen a picture of him in years, hadn't been in his presence since that decade ago.

They were a little rocky getting back together. But she was willing to try and make it work. She _wanted_ it to work, because he was literally her only family now. And if she were completely honest with herself, she missed him. Every little girl wants a daddy at one point or another.

But now. Now she is furious.

He hasn't reciprocated the effort she has poured into making their reunion easy, hasn't paid her much mind other than to situate her in the room she vacated at the age of the seven (and clearly hasn't been touched in the decade she missed), doesn't respond to her reaching out, trying to engage him in conversation, and now _this_.

The botany book she pulled from her father's shelf lies open in the dirt by her knees, open to a condemning page. She flips through the next few pages, skimming the brief description in a hope that she is making an amateurish mistake, but no matter which way she looks at it, the verdict isn't changing.

She glances up. The plant in front of her is deceptively innocent looking, with little white flowers and shockingly yellow stamen protruding from the centre of the perfectly formed petals. It has a bit of a cloying smell when she leans closer to inspect it, and overall it seems very pleasant, aesthetically speaking. Unfortunately, it is an evil little plant that has no right to be here, or over there, or waaaay there... oh jeez, they're everywhere.

She picks up the dichotomous key and runs through the checklist again, before diagnosing the plant a last time. Everything lines up, and the final result isn't good.

It's an invasive species, one that kills a majority of the plants that are native to this area. Its leaves have somehow evolved to employ a lower pH level, becoming more acidic, like pine needles, and it outcompetes many surrounding plants with its network of numerous shallow roots that cover a surprisingly vast amount of space, canvasing out competition.

Most of the information the botany book offers is lost on MK's untrained mind, but she understands the most basic point: by growing here, it is killing the natural plant life of the forest. By killing the little plants, it is hurting the bigger plants, not to mention the animals who depend on the natural foliage for food... essentially, it is destroying the forest.

It doesn't belong here, and by all rights, _shouldn't_ be here.

Which can only mean one thing: someone has purposefully put it there.

"Someone", in this case, meaning "Bomba".

Thus her fury.

She snaps the book shut, her anger making her motions sharp and terse. The crack of pages hitting pages feels good, but not good enough, so she wrenches the covers open again and bangs it closed, harder. It's satisfying, to hear the collision and to exert this much force over the inanimate object. Ridiculous though it is, she feels better once she has beaten the living daylights out of the book, slamming it over and over again.

Those damn activists were right all along. They were right! And she had made an unintentional enemy of Malcolm the scary-activist-who-is-also-the-veterinarian by coming to the defence of her father.

She lets the book slip between her fingers, falling to the ground again. Sighing, she pushes her fingers through her short bangs, trying to steady their shaking. She glares at the innocent little flower in front of her. _Really_, she muses frustratedly,_ how can such a small plant kill such enormous trees?_ She takes a few seconds to gather her thoughts, rein her anger back in check, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them. The knees of her jeans smell like grass stains when she lets her forehead rest on them.

So what does she do now? Would it be unethical to turn her father in to the activists? What Bomba did... it wasn't illegal, was it? Or was it... the activists had said something about the forest being protected...

There's just no way out. She lets a growl of frustration out, muffling it into the knees of her jeans. What is she supposed to do?!

Well... she can start by getting rid of the evidence. That's what all the criminals do in the TV police show reruns she watched with her mother... and now she's mentally referring to herself as a criminal... _oh god..._

She disentangles herself from her self-embrace and settles herself in a solid stance, still crouching. She gets a good hold on the plant's stem, a sturdy, miniature trunk with thorny little barbs that prick her palms. Giving it an experimental tug, she finds it irritatingly resistant, so she puts more weight behind her next attempt. It's a frustratingly resilient plant that refuses to die without a tooth-and-nail fight, and even when MK digs her heels into the soft loam and throws her entire 127-pound weight behind the last tug, tearing furrows into the ground with the effort, she comes up with nothing but an interesting pattern of scratches along her hands as the plant slips through her grasp and sends her sprawling. Those maddeningly cheerful white flowers wave cheekily back at her as she groans, rubbing her back from where she hit a tree root. Curse that network of numerous shallow roots that anchor this invader as if gravity were to fail at any moment!

She stands up and rubs her injured palms on her jeans, calculating her next move. She could go back to the house and bring a spade, try to dig it up. It would take more time and effort, but she could potentially do it... but as she lets her gaze wander past the first plant to the second one hiding under a shrub, and the third growing around a tree trunk... she realizes that there could be hundreds of the little devils in this forest, and nothing will guarantee her even finding them all let alone removing them. It's hopeless, she is finally forced to admit with a dejected slump of her shoulders. She can't do it.

She rubs a hand over her tired eyes and stoops to collect the book she dropped. There's nothing more she can do, other than confront her father or contact the activists. Both prospects are so intensely unappealing that she feels physically sick at the prospect of following one through. The book bangs against her forehead as she releases another groan, dragging it out melodramatically. How did she ever get wrapped up in this mess?!

She drags herself back up and stumbles in the direction of the house. Dry leaves crackle under her boots, even though they are in the peak of summer. The grey of dead bark surrounds her, trees withering and falling to the floor even as she passes them. She doesn't notice the slow creep of rot ascending the tree trunks around her, but the grey of death doesn't miss her critical eye.

Even though she has come to a finite conclusion, she still doesn't understand. The impact her father has set in motion by planting these invasive plants makes sense, but how can these trees be dying so quickly? There are dozens of dead- or dying- trees around her, but the plants would have had to been here for years to have made such a mess as big as this one seems to be. Besides... the foliage on the ground should have been the first to go, not the trees... and the ferns at her feet are leafy and healthy, startlingly green in comparison to the sad state of the trees above them.

She shakes her head. She just doesn't know.

-:-

Bomba is in his study with the door wide open when MK sneaks back through the door, and she can see him rolling around the room without getting out of his office chair. The chair hits the edge of the desk, almost tipping its occupant out, but he catches himself and grabs his GPS from the drawer, slamming push pins into the top of the desk where a map has been pincushion-ed down. MK rolls her eyes, wishing she had the guts to go in there and make him explain for himself the problems she is unearthing... but she can't do it right now.

Instead, she tip toes over the creaky hardwood floor and slides the botany book back into its proper place on the shelf. She is about to turn around and leave, but she pauses when her eye catches the other titles that line the shelf. There's the science journal that first tipped her off, the one she had tried to read for entertainment, depicting the details of introduced plants in other environments. There are journals on the plant itself, there are homemade documentaries of Bomba's experimentation with the plant, there are countless other botany references and clues that anyone could link the problem back to this living room.

MK winces at the obviousness of it all.

With a glance back at her occupied father, she takes the book back, then starts to pull the others down as well. The pile at her feet grows until the only books left on the sparse shelf are the oversized picture books she vaguely recalls Bomba reading to her when she was very little. It's a bittersweet reminder that maybe he cared at one point. She wonders briefly at their presence, but decides that he probably only forgot to remove them. He isn't sentimental, as she recalls.

The pile of books she has removed is too big to be carried in her arms, so she goes scouting for a box. She tries to step lightly so that Bomba won't be alerted to her presence, or her intentions, but the house is old and defies her with every creak of a hinge or squeak of an ancient floorboard. She eases the basement door open, grinding her teeth at its insistent wailing as it reluctantly opens, then she tries the light. Nothing happens, and she remembers that the bulb blew when she came home with the groceries yesterday. She briefly thinks to find a flashlight, but doubts that Bomba even owns one, so descends into the ominous staircase without.

The red glow from the heat lamps in the corner cast strange shadows over the room, but as MK feels around blindly, she can't find an empty box anywhere. She can't find _any_ boxes. She sighs, realizing she is going to have to take several trips to dispose of the books since she has nothing to carry them in. She eyes the porcelain containers underneath the heat lamps, pondering whether they would be sturdy enough to carry the books. Inching closer to the sole source of light, she taps one with the toe of her boot. Instead of the hollow sound she anticipated, it resists her gentle kick. She bends down to look closer and comes face to face with a row of premature invaders. The little white flowers aren't yet open, but they smell exactly the same as they did out in the forest. With shaking hands, MK shuts off the heat lamps and gathers the flower pots- because that's what they are, evidently- into her arms and carries them upstairs to set beside her pile of offending books.

She stares at the accumulated offences she has gathered, and decides that she may as well finish what she's started. Wrenching a kitchen cupboard open, she snatches the little cardboard box from the top shelf, shoves it in her pockets.

Lining the walls outside her father's office are his filing cabinets. She glances in his office, sees that he's still occupied, and starts to open the drawers. Reading through the labels on the files inside, she starts to pull out all relevant files until there is nothing left.

The she starts to move it all outside onto the grass of her father's backyard.

* * *

_A/N: I didn't have the mental capacity to edit this, so I'll do it at a later date. Sorry for any errors._

_Thanks to: mjoi25, darkryubaby, FishInAFadora, Katherine and, as always, Minirowan, for the reviews._


	12. Chapter 12

XII

The sun is starting to sink when Ronin arrives back at Moonhaven. Tara leaps to her feet, having spent the entire span of his absence waiting for his return, perched on the roof surrounded by guards. She doesn't even notice the utter lack of Nod; she is too relieved to see Ronin's stiff form atop the hummingbird growing closer with every passing breath.

The bird skitters nervously to a stop at the edge of the roof, in the gap between the guards stationed there, and he slides to the ground shakily, barely steadying himself on the bird with uncertain balance.

"You're back," Tara gasps in relief, reaching out to grip his shoulders as he wilts with fatigue.

"Aye," he murmurs distractedly. "But... there's... I don't understand-"

She ignores his weary mutters, interrupting him. "Come inside, have something to drink. Then you can tell us your report."

He blinks blankly at her, and his nearly colourless grey eyes adopt the colour of the dying sunlight behind her, turning a subtle orange, like glowing coals. "No time," he manages to grit out between clenched teeth and his fingers start to fumble with the saddle on the bird beside him.

"I understand," she assures him, pulling his hand away from the saddle, trying to urge him towards the door where she can find him somewhere to rest. "The solstice is tomorrow, and there is much to plan before then. But we can do that later. Right now, all I want is for you to sit down." She narrows her eyes at his face, concerned. "You don't look well."

"Tara," he says with forced calm, "we need to- will you- let go of me!" His fingers stutter around her grip, trying to fumble free. The volume behind his placid voice steadily grows with frantic energy until he finally yells, and she does as he has asked, though more from surprise than complacency.

"Ronin," she addresses him cautiously, studying his face and finally seeing the distress written there, "what's wrong?"

He makes a harsh noise in the back of his throat, wrenching away from her to dig viciously through the saddle bag. He pulls an arrow, a plain arrow from the bag and stiffly holds it out for her to take. She obliges and turns it about, trying to discern what has gotten Ronin's feathers so ruffled. "What is this?" she finally inquires, finding nothing of consequence.

"I couldn't find Nod," he states flatly, and proceeds to explain how his search transpired. It's nothing out of the ordinary, save for the fact that Nod is still suspiciously missing, until he describes finding arrow. He points to the shaft. "It's changed. It was covered in Boggan residue when I found it, but it's gone now."

"Back to it's original state, with its original owners," Tara suggests, and he nods in agreement.

"But it makes me worry," he continues, taking the arrow back and fingering its work-worn tip, "that Boggans would be employing our own weapons against us."

Tara frowns slightly. "Yes, I suppose... but that's not what's worrying you right now, is it?"

He continues to stare intently at the arrow in his hands, as if it were the most curious item he had laid eyes on. For the longest stretch of suffocating silence, Tara assumes he isn't going to answer, which only solidifies her reasoning, but he takes a deep breath and sighs, "Where is he?" in a rushed, subdued tone.

"Ronin-"

"No, where could he have gone? He's not stupid, he won't be lost, he can't be dead... so where is he?"

She cautiously touches his arm- she wants to be his solace- and he doesn't push her away again. "I agree with all those things," she murmurs, drawing closer, feeling confident, "but you said it yourself; Boggan's arrow, no sign of Nod..."

"Leafman arrow," he corrects in a sullen mutter, but she ignores this.

She quirks a smile, waiting for him to give up his too-formal pose and meet her gaze. When he does, he subconsciously relaxes and lets her take the arrow from his clenched fingers. "Have a little trust," she assures him. "He's trustworthy."

"Tara!"

Ronin makes a startled noise and abruptly backs away from her, staring over her shoulder at the guard who has appeared at the edge of the roof. Tara sighs and closes her eyes briefly, mourning a lost moment, before turning to face yet another duty.

The words _invasion_ and _western border_ fly, condemning and final, and Tara can't help feeling a sense of déjà vu. She barks orders for retribution, relaxing when she hears Ronin add his own input. He is still ashen and tired, but Tara knows he won't let her down now.

The matter doesn't take long to straighten out, and though Tara wants to add her own efforts to the defending party that marches from Moonhaven, Ronin refrains her, reminding her that tomorrow is looming with too many uncertainties as is.

They stand together on the rooftop, watching the last of the hummingbird fleet disappear behind the many curtains of leaves, heading west. Tara shivers, envisioning the end result; the last few haven't gone well, and she wonders morbidly how many bodies she will be responsible for in the next few hours.

Ronin shifts beside her, glancing uncomfortably at the ever-present escort of guards surrounding the rooftop, only far enough away to offer the slimmest amount of privacy. "Tara," he murmurs, leaning closer to her, "what is that?"

She squints in the direction he is pointing, vaguely north-west, if her directions are correct, and tries to discern what he has noticed. "What?"

"Look there," he instructs, pushing her straight posture down a few degrees so that she lines up with his arm, staring down the straight of his pointing finger. From this height, she does see what he is noting.

Just underneath a bank of leaves, but hovering over the wall of ferns that guard Moonhaven from obvious view, a strange new glow has begun to highlight the curves of the tree trunks. Golden and warm, it flits between alternately pale and rich, never very steady but never quite leaving at the same time.

"The sunset?" Tara guesses uncertainly, already positive it is not. The colour is too intense, even at its weakest, and it's in the entirely wrong direction for a summer sunset.

"No," he replies, deadpan, already pointing out the obvious.

She struggles for another explanation, but can't form a coherent thought that would solve the mystery. Ronin backs away from her and hurries to the guard at the edge of the roof. Murmurs are exchanged, though Tara doesn't bother to try to interpret them. The other guards are summoned to the corner the first and Ronin stand at, and the huddle quickly assess the possibilities, hushed discussions buzzing meaninglessly in Tara's ear.

"I'll go," Ronin says finally, breaking the circle they have formed. Tara looks up at this proclamation, mouth thinning in displeasure.

"I want to come," she announces, already striding towards Ronin's hummingbird, which is still settled where it landed not long before.

Ronin's face hardens. "Tara-" he growls in warning, even as the other guards chirp up a cacophony of denial.

"It's stronger," someone notes, and both Ronin and Tara whip around to confirm. The glow has indeed strengthened, turning orange-and-red, an intense light that only grows stronger with every passing moment.

"We should go now," she insists, reaching for Ronin's hand.

"I don't like this," he counters, purposely moving away from her reach.

She is hurt by his obvious snub, but she doesn't let it show. Instead, she arrogantly mounts the bird, sitting in the front of the saddle so that he has no option but to sit behind her. "It's only a routine check. Besides, I can hold my own." She stares him down, black eyes battling grey.

Emotionless though he is, Tara can tell when Ronin breaks. With a slightly resentful tip of his shoulders, he resigns himself to the inevitable and mounts. From behind her, he doesn't see her determined smirk fade into a satisfied smile.

"We'll be back as soon as possible," Ronin begins, speaking to the guard who waits uncertainly beside the bird. "I don't imagine this will take long."

"Maybe it's magic," Tara whispers excitedly, still fixated on the undetermined light.

Ronin reaches around her to grip the reins. "Maybe," he echoes hollowly.

The bird lifts into the air, easily carrying its double load. The guards on the roof of Moonhaven salute their queen away, making room for the bird to manoeuvre. As the steady thrum of the hummingbird's churning wings begins to throb underneath her, Tara feels a sharp ache, just behind her eye, instantaneous and painful, there one second, gone the next. She gasps in surprise, her hand moving involuntarily to the afflicted spot, but it's gone before she can assuage it.

"Tara?" Ronin's voice rumbles behind her back.

"I'm fine," she insists, though she is shaken by the strangeness of it all.

He shifts behind her, and she knows that he doesn't believe her, but he doesn't speak again. They surge ahead, falling into the uncomfortable silence that seems to pervade their relationship.

The sky is falling dark behind them, but ahead, it grows brighter and brighter. And the air turns heavy. So heavy... and hot.

Hot.

Pain curls in the pit of Tara's stomach, then grows strong, sending burning tendrils through her arms, so fierce her fingers curl unbidden into fists and she cries out. In an instant, she's blinded by the agony, and before she can even think to fight it, it drags her under. She slumps unconscious in Ronin's arms.

Ronin doesn't even notice. His eyes widen as he stares at the ground, searching the trees, barely understanding what is happening.

With the last rays of sunlight filtering between the tree trunks, the forest is awash with light. Leaves wither, twigs snap, leaf litter blackens- all in seconds. Flames lick up the trees, consuming everything faster than any rot could possibly. It's an inferno.

The forest is burning.

* * *

_A/N: I don't like how this chapter is written, but I've re-written it enough times to just give up. Yay, cliff hangers :P_

_Thanks to: Minirowan and Noruinivnes for the reviews!_


	13. Chapter 13

XIII

Cool night air kisses his face as he speeds towards home. Underneath him, the bird cocks its sleek head, slender neck becoming a silver curve under the light of the half-moon. In V formation behind him, his companions follow him soundlessly, a fleet of shadows.

They have been successful. It glows in the back of his mind, a pride that refuses to be extinguished. Despite this, he hides it. His reputation couldn't stand a blow such as handing out compliments. He tightens his expression to the carefully schooled mask of disapproval.

A figure approaches from his rear right flank, a looming silhouette in his peripheral vision. Ignoring this, he pulls his hood lower over his head and settles deeper into the bird's smooth back.

"Dad."

Mandrake relents, turning his head slightly so that his son, Dagda, can see that he has his attention.

Understanding that this is all the acknowledgment he is going to get, Dagda proceeds. "This invasion... did it seem wrong to you?"

The instant he says it, he knows that it has come out wrong. His eyes widen and he stammers, "W-wait-" but it's too late.

"Wrong?" Mandrake repeats mildly. "You think our work is _wrong_?"

"No!" Dagda desperately tries to backtrack. "No, of course not!" He slouches lower, and his crow falls back, almost blending into the night sky, but not enough to hide its rider's shame. Mustering what is left of his courage, he tries again, urging the bird ahead once more. "Just... I just wondered... did it feel too..._easy_?"

Mandrake turns back to face forward, as if his son had never spoken. Sensing a dismissal, Dagda dejectedly falls back into place, filling the gap he had left in the formation. What he doesn't know, is that he has set the wheels turning in Mandrake's mind.

Yes, it was too easy. The Leafmen fell before the Boggan forces like their namesakes, leaves- easily cut down and disposed of. It was strangely disappointing, winning an uncontested battle. There is no satisfaction in default prizes.

Something must be happening. The Leafmen are too proud to fall this easily under his power. There must be an ulterior motive, something that will hurt more than this trivial border scrimmage.

Now he just needs to discover what it is.

The rise of the hollowed out tree appears, a black outline against a blacker sky. Mandrake hauls his bird upwards, allowing his minions to pour into the opening while his crow circles overhead. Dagda, bless his weak mind, senses that his father is not finished with him, and reluctantly follows suit, circling a few feet below. At least he understands submission.

When the last minion has vanished through the opening below, Mandrake lowers his altitude and allows Dagda to ascend closer.

"Dagda," he begins, and already his son flinches as if struck. He curls his lip at the obvious weakness, but decides to let it go for now. "You're right."

Dagda, head lowered in shame, is silent for a heartbeat. Then, "I'm... I'm _right_?"

Mandrake's yellow eyes fall heavy on Dagda.

"I mean, of course I'm right." Dagda grins nervously.

Mandrake rumbles in agreement. "For once," he agrees snidely, only loud enough for Dagda to hear. The younger Boggan fades under the derogatory statement, but doesn't respond. Mandrake continues, "The western border is nearly ours. But it's falling to easily. Tonight, I want you to lead a quick patrol around the remaining border."

Dagda blinks in confusion. "But we don't do 'patrols'. Only Leafmen do 'patrols'."

"And now we will do the same!" Mandrake snarls back, snapping his teeth together menacingly. "Find out what's happening!"

"Yes, sir!" Dagda all but flees. He circles his bird away, screeching for backup.

Mandrake watches his son fly away, a murder of crows creating a cloud in his wake as others follow his lead. A satisfied smile curves Mandrake's lips, and he feels that glow of pride again. Maybe his boy will be like him someday. Maybe he really is worth everything Mandrake puts up with for him.

But he'll never admit it.

-:-

"Mary Katherine."

MK, sitting on the living room floor and playing pinball on her dying phone, looks up. Her dad stands in the doorway of his office, wringing his hands and looking pathetically worried. She immediately feels a pang of concern for him- he does look nearly frightened, wide eyed and all- but she steels her nerve against the sympathy. "Yeah?"

"I am starting to believe," he says in a rush, "that we have lost Ozzie."

It takes her a moment to sort out his avalanche of words. "Ozzie? I saw him not that long ago..."

As soon as she says it, she knows that's not true. It's been a long while since she last saw the gimpy creature with the vacant grin.

"He's been missing since at least this morning," Bomba insists.

"How do you know?" she counters, even if only to be obstinate.

Bomba points down the hall, where the doorway to the kitchen is only just visible. "I refill his food every morning, because it's always empty by then. It hasn't been touched at all today."

MK is quietly impressed that her father noticed anything, or even remembers to hold to a rather vital daily routine, refilling Ozzie's food every morning. She pushes herself to her feet, silent, and moves into the kitchen to check the bowl for herself. She is both upset and annoyed that he is indeed correct; Ozzie obviously hasn't touched it. Walking slowly back to her father's side, she tries to formulate the next step. "Have you called for him?" she asks, stopping next to her father.

"I- oh. No, I haven't."

She raises her eyebrows, and he takes the reprimand valiantly. They part ways, heading to opposite ends of the darkening house, calling for the half-deaf dog. MK searches the upper floor while Bomba ruffles through his various nooks and crannies, recalling fondly the time that the dog accidentally got closed in a filing cabinet and was lost for a few harrowing hours.

They meet back in the hallway an hour later, still empty handed. "The litter box doesn't need to be cleaned tonight," Bomba offers after a second, a weak attempt at a bright side.

"Let's go check outside," MK sighs.

She bangs the door open and calls, squinting into the deepening twilight. Leaves rustle in answer, but no sign of the dog is forthcoming.

Bomba grabs her shoulder before she can step down the dilapidated stairs in the direction of the unnervingly dark trees surrounding the house. "Not tonight," he says, already aware of her intentions. "It's too dark, and too late. We'll have to keep looking tomorrow."

He looks tired, and maybe, if MK is correct, a bit sad. The dog is pretty old, but if Bomba has managed to keep Ozzie alive for this long, he must care about him. MK's sympathy twinges again, and she pats her father's hand uncomfortably. "First thing in the morning," she promises. "I'm sure he's fine for now, anyways."  
Bomba bobs his head vaguely. "Of course," he murmurs, already wandering back into the house with the faraway look stealing his attention.

MK shuts the screen door behind her, carefully making sure it stays shut and turns to close the inner door. She squints through the screen, searching for stars, but doesn't see a thing. The sky is a strange dusky colour, not quite night, but not quite evening. It has a bit of a glow to it, orangey colour surrounding the tree tops.

It even smells warm and homey, a husky smell on the heated breeze.

MK closes the last door, and locks it behind her.

* * *

_A/N: Hmm. Short chapter._

_As always, thanks go to .39, Brucrew17, Katherine, Noruinivnes, FishInAFadora, Minirowan, and deadlynadders! See what cliffhangers elicit? Hahaha_


	14. Chapter 14

XIV

Sometime during the night, an alarm goes off. It wakes MK up immediately, and she groans, stiff from lying in the too-small bed. She's too disoriented to be frustrated with her father this time, but she still rolls out of bed and pads down the hall. If this is anything like last time, her father probably hasn't even noticed the shrill ringing shaking through the walls of the house.

She's wrong.

She hasn't even made it to the staircase when Bomba comes barrelling out of his bedroom and nearly bowls her over in his haste.

"Dad, what the-"

"Alarm!" he barks, already bounding down the stairs in a barely controlled descent. Half way down, he pauses to look back up at her with those owlish eyes. "Mary Katherine, what are you doing up?"

She wrinkles her nose at him, noting that he hasn't bothered to put on his glasses. "Alarm," she replies simply.

His mouth hangs half open as he digests the information. "Okay." Then he vanishes back down the stairs, thumping through the kitchen to his office.

At a slower pace, she follows him, wondering what trouble he will cause this time. The wary feeling that follows her every time she is with her father anymore slowly overpowers her initial fatigue, until she is bitter at him twice-over; for the inevitable trouble and for waking her up yet again.

The pound of the alarm grinds her teeth, and she leaves the staircase, walking into a cascade of paper that is flying out her father's office door. "Agh!"

"Mary Katherine!" Bomba's voice caterwauls. "Maaary Kaaaatherine!"

"I'm right here!" she snaps, ducking under an airborne sheaf of paper so thick it probably would have taken her head off.

Bomba sticks his head out the door. "Oh. Yes, you are. Where is my GPS?"

She rolls her eyes and pushes past him into the office. "I left it in your drawer," she informs him, even though he was there when she put it there in the first place. She pulls it out and plants it in his waiting hand. He wraps his fingers around it and moves away to the bank of television screens. "Please turn the alarm off," MK requests plaintively to his retreating back. "It's, like, three in the morning."

"Five after twelve," he corrects absently, pointing to the large, round analog clock face hanging on the wall, half hidden behind a bookshelf.

MK sulks. "I'm tired."

A noncommittal "Uh," is the only response she is favoured.

Completely unreasured, she waits, ghosting around the doorway to his office. As the alarm continues to screech, she starts to grow anxious. "Aren't you done, yet?" she gripes, covering up her concern with teenager-ness.

Bomba's fingers tap experimentally at keyboards, and his eyes remain fixed on the blue-tinted screens. "Can't find it," he mutters.

"Can't find what?"

"The signal. Can't find the source of the signal."

She slips into the room and peers over his shoulder. The GPS screen is blank, unlike last time, when it easily displayed the urgent location. None of the screens are glaringly obvious, each with its own scene of forest nighttime. There are no frantic birds, or thrashing leaves... or motion. Everything is still.

Except for the lowest screen on the left. This one shows no picture at all. It has turned a solid blue, with static etching its way across the screen, like its video feed source has been disrupted.

"That one?" MK suggests, pointing to odd screen.

"Already checked it," Bomba dismisses immediately. "It's dead. Can't be that one."

She studies the screens a second time. "Are you sure there even _is_ a signal? It seems pretty uneventful out there to me."

Her father blinks blankly at her. "But there's an alarm..."

She groans. "Fine. Figure it out yourself." She supposes this was short tempered, but all she wanted was for the alarm to stop and to sleep a full night for once. She leaves the office and slouches back upstairs to her bedroom, shutting the door firmly in a vain hope that the alarm would be drowned out behind the thick wood.

No such luck. It seems like the shrill squeal goes on forever before she hears her father move again downstairs. His conspicuously heavy footsteps stomp away from the office until he is pounding back up the staircase. The whole way, he is yelling, but MK can't discern what he says.

Her door flies open, revealing a frantic Bomba, wild-eyed and pale.

"Dad?" She is suddenly scared.

"It's the fire alarm!" he shouts. "We have to get out of here!"

-:-

Nod has never felt so exhausted in his life. He stumbles as he runs, leaps off one branch and nearly misses the next entirely. He manages to catch his balance just before he pitches right off the side, but his legs still tremble as he pulls himself back upright and plunges back into the foliage.

He has no idea where he is. He has never been to this part of the forest before... or if he has, it was from the air, and he doesn't recognize it from this perspective. He only knows that he is getting farther and farther from Moonhaven than he would ever want to be, bird-less or otherwise. It might take him a day and some to walk all the way back, the distance he has covered by now.

All he knows is that this is the only direction he can go. Behind him, somewhere ages away, the fire is chasing him. Without Dippy to help him, he doesn't know how far or how wide the fire reaches, but he doesn't want to stick around long enough to find out. He's getting as far away as possible as fast as possible. He keeps to the lower branches of the trees, because somewhere in his faded survival knowledge, he knows that heat rises. Down low, he will have less chance of encountering smoke. Or, at least, he hopes this is so.

All around him, other life is fleeing the destruction. Birds overhead have long since vacated the area, with that supernatural sense they seem to posses, warning them of potential danger. On the forest floor, not far below where Nod is now located, rodents like mice and rabbits are scattering, their round eyes dilated with panic. Nod can't keep pace with them, but he uses their directions to guide his own flight.

Overhead, he hears a thrum. At first, he thinks it is only the frantic beating of his heart, pounding a rhythm in the blood rushing through his ears. When it grows louder and more present, he realizes that it is an external sound.

A hummingbird flashes by, bright colours muted by the lack of light. Nod is shocked to see a bird still in the vicinity, until he realizes that it carries a rider. No... two riders.

Leafmen.

"Hey!" Nod cries, leaping to a higher branch. "Wait!"

The bird is already far ahead, but Nod pushes himself on, racing after the pale green plumage.

"Wait, please!"

Too soon, the air feels hot, filled with smoke. Nod feels the incessant need to cough, but he refrains, trying to catch the bird that is rapidly growing smaller. The bird doesn't slow, a glinting green fleck vanishing into billions of green leaves...

And then it's gone.

* * *

_A/N: I'm starting to get nervous with all the university courses I've taken... hopefully I'll be able to keep up with a Friday update. If otherwise, I may have to put this on another hiatus. But hopefully not._

_Thank you's to: Rachel (welcome back! :D ), Katherine, Brucrew17, Guna and a special thank you to fiesa. You have made my week a heck of a lot happier. _


	15. an author's note, or something like that

A brief A/N even though I hate it when authors do this.

So yes, I've gone into hiding.

But not really.

What I really mean to say is:

I am so sorry for ditching out... I didn't have the next chapter ready (still don't) and I had a series of papers due that were stressing me out. Looking ahead, it looks like my schedule will lighten up, and I hope I'll be able to get back into the swing of things. I'm revoking my previous intentions to update every Friday and instead will update as the time permits.

I hope this works for you guys, and thank you for not, you know, like, hunting me down or something mean like that when I kinda vanished.

I'll delete this note later when I get the next chapter(s) together, so for now this is just my apology.

I will be back soon, I hope!

_winter's-lion_


End file.
